The Silver Dragon
by Kittenshift17
Summary: "This can never happen again," he warned quietly, waving a hand between the two of them indicatively. Hermione nodded emphatically in agreement, not daring to say a word lest she be terribly rude. Or vomit. Either was an option. Hermione wondered why she had a terrible sinking feeling inside to think that it still might.
1. Prologue

**A/N: Hello and welcome to The Silver Dragon. I hope you enjoy the story. Much love! xx-Kitten.**

* * *

 **The Silver Dragon**

 _By Kittenshift17_

* * *

 **PROLOGUE**

* * *

She could honestly say she had no clue how she'd come to be there. Well… that wasn't entirely true. Hermione supposed it was more accurate to say she couldn't decide which precipitating factor was to blame for this lapse in judgement. It could have been that she'd consumed the equivalent of a bottle of Hodgen's Finest. It could have been that, for the first time since the war, she'd attended a function solo – arriving without a date. More importantly, she suspected it had entirely to do with the fact that Ron Weasley was an arse for having moved on enough to bring a date when she hadn't. Something she was expected to grin and bear without complaint or hysterics.

That, Hermione decided, was the biggest and most likely factor that had led to this most alarming circumstance. What other reason could she possibly have for wildly snogging Draco Malfoy in a cheap hotel room?

As the man in question stripped her out of the fancy dress she'd agonised over for hours – literally tearing the fabric in his haste – Hermione could honestly say that while she didn't entirely know how or why she'd come to be there in his arms with her fingers working rapidly on the buttons of his dress robes and the buckle on his belt, she didn't much care right at that moment. In fact, the blond git was doing a fine job of removing all cohesive thought from her mind as he trailed a line of hot kisses over her neck, chest and shoulders while his fingers made short work on the clasp of her bra, unsnapping it and dragging it from her lithe frame before flinging it away.

In a flurry of clothing and a frenzy of lips, hands and hot, willing bodies, they fell into bed with one another with all the passion of such a long-term hatred in one pure physical outlet. Hermione was much too far gone with alcohol consumption to care what Draco Malfoy might think of her body or the pathetic whining mewls he drew from her throat. As he laved her left nipple hotly before nipping her flesh, Hermione threw her head back, her fingers wandering the lithe and wiry muscle of his smooth back.

She hissed with encouraging delight as he freed her of her knickers, leaving her body bare for his hands to explore her flesh. Hermione arched into his touch as he smoothed drink-clumsy fingers through the inferno of wet heat at her core, driving two long digits inside her. Merlin, there was nothing like the feeling of him working her over with those dexterous hands.

Returning the favour, Hermione's fingers wandered his ribcage and abs in a slow path south. The strip of white-blond hair leading downward from his navel made a fine trail to follow until Hermione could wrap her hand around the rigid and ready appendage he'd been hiding inside his trousers.

"Bloody hell, Granger!" Hermione heard him groan contentedly around her nipple as she smoothed her hand up and down the enticing length of him. He responded to the caress with a curl of his fingers inside her, brushing over the spot that hit just right and had her melting into a puddle of neediness.

"Stop teasing!" Hermione whined when he did it again and again and again with just enough pressure to feel amazing but not so much as to send her over the edge.

"You want it?" he drawled arrogantly, lifting his mouth from her breasts to smirk at her wickedly. Hermione was much too drunk to allow that smug expression to rile her.

"Give it to me," she heard herself demand, her voice husky with need.

He leaned into her hotly, capturing her lips with his and Hermione sighed at the feel of his tongue slipping between her lips to stroke her own. Good Lord, but he was a delectable kisser. She protested a moment when he captured her wrist and dragged her hand away from her new favourite toy until she realised he meant to shag her into oblivion with it. Scooting up the bed far enough to do so comfortably, Hermione spread her legs a little wider, canting her hips and jolting slightly at the brush of the hot organ against her throbbing heat.

His hand tangled into her curls, unsettling her careful hairstyle before he slowly impaled her. Hermione groaned in delight. She loved it slow and deep on the initial penetration. It had always bothered her when she'd been with Ron that he would fumble about for a few minutes of foreplay – not really getting her wet enough for sex – before he would hurry to get himself inside her. Too many times in her twenty-four years Hermione had endured the sting and ache of having a man's cock rammed unforgivingly inside her before she was good and wet for it.

She could only groan with pleasure at the feel of Malfoy taking his sweet time about burying himself to the hilt – so deep inside her that Hermione swore she could taste him at the back of her throat. Her body worked to accommodate the unfamiliar girth and length of what Malfoy had down his trousers, practically singing with delight at the way it stretched so deliciously.

"Ah, fuck," Malfoy breathed as he broke their kiss to bury his face against the side of her neck, muttering sweet nothings as though he were in heaven. Hermione knew that she was. Goodness, but it had been too long since she'd shagged anyone. Rolling her hips under him, Hermione was rewarded with a nip to her neck and a slow withdrawal that left her feeling empty and needy all at once. She huffed out a small squeak when Malfoy drove back into her as hard as he could.

Merlin, she was already seeing stars.

She supposed it was safe to say that while self-control and rational thinking appeared to have gone out the window much earlier in the evening when she'd found herself drinking too much and flirting wickedly with an equally inebriated Draco Malfoy – they both lost it then. Hermione felt her mind completely shut off all thought; all rationalisation; all everything, but the feel of what he was doing to her and what she was doing to him.

He fucked her hard. There was no other word to describe what he did to her. He fucked her as brutally as she'd ever been shagged. This was much more than mere sex and as far from making love as one could get. Draco Malfoy fucked her like she'd stolen every Galleon in his Gringotts vault and then had the audacity to charge him for the privilege. He fucked her like she was his most loathed enemy and he was exacting revenge for every slight. He fucked her like he hated her.

And Hermione loved it.

 **~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~**

She woke in a tangle of limbs with an ache throughout every part of her, a pounding in her head, a terrible swirling nausea in her tummy and a stickiness between her legs. Stickiness and the unfamiliar hand of a man she couldn't see. Groaning softly, Hermione tried to make sense of her surroundings. She didn't recognise the gaudy red wallpaper or the cheap furniture of the room she slept in, and the pillow she'd cushioned her head upon smelled like sex, stale cigarette smoke and a certain mustiness.

"Where am I?" she whispered to herself, belatedly realising she was being spooned by a man who had an arm curled over her waist and nestled between her legs, possessively cupping her sex. The other hand was flung across the bed beneath her neck. His hand glinted slightly in the morning sunlight filtering through the haphazard curtains and Hermione narrowed her eyes, trying to recall where she recognised the signet ring on his middle finger from.

She felt groggy and confused, her brain fuzzy with sleep and the tap-dancing elephants from hell. She was hungover and she thought she might be ill.

"More sleep," a male voice - husky with sleep - replied to her rhetorical question. Hermione groaned in agony when he – whoever he was - flexed his fingers against her abused twat, one fingertip penetrating her slit the slightest bit and making it sting. She squirmed uncomfortably, huffing when she realised the uncomfortable pressure she'd felt prodding near her behind was apparently an erect penis nestled between her rear cheeks.

"Oh, Merlin! Who?" she moaned to herself.

The sound of being shushed followed her question and Hermione supposed then that she really ought to have known the answer. Who else could be so arrogant as to shush her whilst she was in the middle of having a mental breakdown?

"What have I done?" she asked of no one in particular.

"Are you going to keep talking?" the voice asked again and Hermione realised that whoever she was sleeping with had nestled his nose into the back of her neck – she could feel his hot breath ghosting over her naked shoulders.

Oh sweet Merlin, she knew that voice.

"MALFOY!" Hermione shouted. She turned in his grip and whimpered when her twisting somehow sent one of his fingers deep inside her abused nether passage.

"Urgh, no so loud!" he groaned. His eyes were still closed and a frown marred his brow as Hermione turned to discover that it was, in fact, Draco Malfoy spooned around her and fingering her. Malfoy that she'd…. oh Merlin!

She'd fucked him. The fuzzy, disjointed memories of the previous evening were coming back, fighting past the dancing elephants that were making her head ache to resurface and fill her with horror.

"No! No, this can't be happening! Malfoy? Sodding Malfoy?" Hermione began to panic, taking in the sight of his swollen lips, his sex-mussed hair and the purple love-bite marring his alabaster throat.

"Must you continue to be so loud?" he asked without opening his eyes. He was beginning to sound very annoyed.

"Malfoy, open your eyes," Hermione commanded sternly.

His frown deepened before he did as instructed, his finger twitching inside her again and making her squirm uncomfortably with how it smarted a bit whilst spurring pleasurable twinges she couldn't handle right then. His silver eyes blinked open slowly; reluctantly; as though he really didn't want to look.

And he jerked back from her in shock as those eyes widened when he realised it was her.

"Fuck! Granger?" he growled. He stared at her in utter horror.

"You see why I'm being loud?" she snapped. She fished his hand out of her twat and shoved the appendage back towards him. She also tried _very hard_ to ignore the sight of several more love-bites littering his pale body. She tried even harder to ignore the tent he was making under the sheets even as he stared at her.

"What the fuck am I doing in bed with you?" Malfoy demanded. He looked groggier than Hermione felt. "Oh bloody, fuck! I shagged you last night? Seriously? You? Hermione sodding Granger?"

"Apparently you did," Hermione growled. She was too furious and horrified with herself and this turn of events to be offended by his tone.

"FUCK!" he shouted, making Hermione's head ache terribly. "How much did I _drink_ last night? Shit, how much did _you_ drink?"

"Judging by the nausea and the headache, not to mention this unfortunate occurrence, I'm going to assume _too bloody much_ ," Hermione retorted.

Malfoy continued to curse while Hermione began to take stock of the room. Her dress lay in a tattered heap, hanging from the corner of the desk across the room. Her panties were on the bedsheets behind Malfoy, a crimson reminder of her nakedness. Her bra was dangling from the bedside lamp – which was lying on its side, precariously balanced on the bedside table. Hermione noticed with some horror that the bulb was broken. Malfoy's trousers were bunched on the floor and she could see his black silk boxers poking out from under the quilt they'd evidently kicked off during the night. The desk chair across the room that ought to have been behind the desk was sitting almost innocently in the middle of the room – the only evidence of its use displayed by the fact that the seat-cushion and the backrest were no longer properly attached, having been flattened like a recliner, a pathetic display of snapped chip-board and slumped fabric.

Malfoy's shirt hung from the top corner of the washroom door, his tie was dangling from the doorknob and his belt was looking particularly suspicious where it was buckled around the metal bedframe above Hermione's head. Horror filled her when she glanced at her own wrists, noticing purple bruising circling the slim appendages. She didn't know if she felt better or worse when she noted that Malfoy bore identical bruises like bracelets around his wrists.

"Oh…. My….." Hermione breathed, her attention dancing around the room as she took in the carnage of the evening.

"You've got…." Malfoy began, looking equally horrified.

Hermione squawked when she looked up and discovered there was a mirror on the ceiling. She flinched back from Malfoy as he reached slowly towards her and her eyes widened when she caught sight of purple bruising around her throat.

"What the…?" she trailed off, staring at her own bedraggled reflection and watching Malfoy reach for her throat slowly with both hands. Hermione gulped back vomit when he lightly wrapped his hands around her neck, matching the hand-shaped bruising to perfection. He'd sat up to do so and Hermione's attention was drawn to the expanse of his back in the mirror.

It was no longer smooth, unblemished and white. His entire back was littered with scratches and welts, some of them bloodied, as though she'd viciously clawed at him.

Malfoy was too busy wrapping both hands around her upper arms and fitting them to the bruises there as well. Her chest was dotted with stubble rash and love bites, her nipples beaded and slightly swollen. She was entirely too shocked by the aftermath of what they'd done to one another to even notice she was naked. After all, what did a little nakedness matter in the face of such carnage?

"Bloody hell," Malfoy said. His eyes lifted to clash with hers in the mirror on the ceiling. "What did I _do_ to you?"

"Look at your back," Hermione whispered in return, still eyeing the ragged expanse of flesh. He looked like he'd been mauled by a big cat. Malfoy's eyes widened even further when he took in the bloodied mess that was his back.

"Fuck, Granger," he cursed. "You drew blood."

"I…" Hermione began, her tongue attempting to stumble over an apology before a sharp and deep-seated throb inside her stomach – low down on her abdomen – distracted her. Clutching at it and tearing her eyes off the ceiling, Hermione suddenly noticed that there was blood smeared on the bed sheets where the covers had fallen away from her naked form.

"You drew blood too…" she murmured, scooting back slightly to see that the white sheets were stained crimson with blood. She had a nasty feeling she knew where it had bled from too when her abused twat stung like all get out at the friction.

"Merlin… you weren't a virgin, were you?" Malfoy asked. He looked panicked when he noted her pained expression and the blood.

"No," Hermione shook her head. "Not for years…. Which means you fucked me so hard you tore something."

"Shit," Malfoy cursed. He sighed as he ran a hand through his messy blond hair. "How the hell did this happen?"

"Alcohol," Hermione murmured. "Too much wine…. They were serving that elf-made wine at the Ministry function last night – some charity?"

"The War Orphans Charity Ball," Malfoy nodded. "Disgustingly richer as a result of my Mother and Father's generosity in two things. One hundred thousand galleons and elf-made wine from Italy, aged fifty years and served to all guests, all evening."

"It was tasty." Hermione recalled, frowning as she tried to piece together how she'd come to be in bed with Malfoy. "Too tasty."

"Mmm," Malfoy nodded. "Went down easy. And everyone had those terrible glasses that refilled every time they were drained. I have no clue how many I had…. How the hell did I end up with you?"

"Something about your mother…" Hermione recalled. "I remember you grumbling something about you mother…"

"That's right!" Malfoy snapped his fingers, his free hand scratching idly at his bare chest. "The barmy witch was trying to set me up with the youngest Greengrass girl. Again. Instigating ridiculous and embarrassing dances and the like… Why do I get the feeling your lapse in judgement had something to do with Weasley?"

"Oh," Hermione sighed out, her eyes widening as she flopped back down on the bed, clutching at her head. "I remember now…. Ron. Ron turned up with some new woman on his arm as his date. Kelly Hamster? Karen Tromple? ... I don't know… And I was furious because I didn't take a date out of respect for the recent break-up to avoid hurting his feelings…. I felt like an idiot…. Oh merlin, I was chugging down that wine like a seasoned boozer."

"Yeah, but how did we end up _here_?" Malfoy peered blearily vaguely around the room. "It's not as though you and I usually interact."

Hermione nodded slowly, her eyes closed to keep from having to see her reflection in the ceiling mirror.

"I seem to recall something about your mother trying to set up a date for you with Greengrass and you stomping off. And then seeing Ron snogging that little trollop he'd brought with him? Were you in the gardens? I think I went there so no one would see me crying…" Hermione whispered.

"Oh, bloody hell!" Malfoy exclaimed suddenly. "You ran by me. I was near the doors to the gardens, skulking in the corridor and thinking seriously about how best to rid the world of simpering bitches like the Greengrass women…. You ran by me, sobbing…"

"You followed me?" Hermione asked, her eyes opening slowly to fix on him.

"I… shit!" Malfoy sighed again. "I was pissed off and I distinctly remember thinking that the bitch my mother was trying to set me up with wouldn't want me anymore if I shagged a mudblood like you…. Fuck!"

"You took advantage of me in my vulnerable state," Hermione accused. "And entirely for your own ends!"

"Slytherin," Malfoy pointed to himself seriously, a little smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. Hermione was too hungover to care that he'd called her a mudblood. She'd long since gotten used to the word given that it was scarred into her forearm. "And anyway, you were willing enough. In fact, I'm pretty sure you instigated the bloody snogging. Something about muttering that Weasley could go to hell and that if he was snogging scum why shouldn't you?"

"Oooh," Hermione said. Her eyes widened as she recalled thinking just that. "That's right… But how did we get here? And where exactly _is_ here?"

"It looks like a cheap hotel room," Malfoy pointed out the obvious.

"Well, obviously!" Hermione replied, rolling her eyes. She groaned at the way it made her head and her stomach spin painfully. "Oh Merlin, I think I'm going to be sick."

"Me too," Malfoy muttered. "What the bloody hell happened to that chair?"

Hermione looked towards the sad piece of furniture once more. It sagged pathetically.

"I think you bent me over it and the back gave way," Hermione admitted. A blush stained her cheeks. "I have to shower…"

She climbed out of bed, unable to locate anything decent enough to cover her naked form between the bed and the door.

"Shit, Granger!" Malfoy cursed suddenly, scooting across the bed and following her. Hermione stopped at the tone in his voice and peered back over her shoulder at him.

"What?" she asked, worried by his concerned frown.

"I think I…. you have welts and bruises on your arse like I might've… flogged you," he admitted. Hermione hissed when he dragged one finger over something painful on her left bum cheek.

"Do you suppose that was before or after we were each tied to the headboard?" Hermione asked as she continued into the bathroom.

"We… fuck!" Malfoy exclaimed. Hermione watched him cross back to the bed where she could hear him trying to undo his belt from the bedframe. Turning on the water in the shower and trying desperately not to throw up, Hermione waited for the water to warm enough to be pleasant before she stepped inside.

"Oh, Gods," she moaned as the water scalded down her back, both pleasant and painful as it hit the scratches and bruises on her skin.

"Shit, Granger, don't make that noise," Malfoy's husky voice came from the other side of the shower curtain before he stepped through it.

"What are you doing?" she demanded. "You can't just climb into the shower with me, Malfoy."

"Witch, after everything we did to each other last night, do you think sharing a shower's going to make a difference?" Malfoy asked. He quirked one eyebrow at her even as he leaned into the spray of the shower.

Hermione supposed that he had a point. Not that she had to like it. She was currently too hungover and feeling entirely too wretched to put up much of a fight or analyse the repercussions of what they'd done. Hermione knew that later it was going to bite her in the arse. Merlin, for all she knew, Malfoy was going to bite her arse. Again.

"I hate you," she sighed before leaning into him under the spray, tucking her wet curls under his chin and leaning against his chest to better enjoy the hot water. Malfoy's reply was to chuckle darkly before his arms curled around her waist, pressing her more firmly against him.

She didn't know how long they stood there under the hot water, leaning against one another. Hermione felt like she could go right back to sleep. Her head ached horribly and she felt like she was going to be sick at any moment. Her whole body ached with the pain of abused muscles, not to mention the welts, bruises and scratches littering her skin.

When eventually the water ran cold, Hermione climbed out of Malfoy's embrace and out of the shower, dragging the scratchy hotel bath-towel against her skin to dry herself before wrapping it around herself tightly while Malfoy did the same. She felt mildly revived by the shower and some of her sense – along with her embarrassment – was returning.

Shuffling into the bedroom once more, Hermione left Malfoy in the bathroom. She located their wands shoved under one of the pillows on the bed. Using hers quickly, Hermione performed cleansing charms on her clothing, before transfiguring her fancy silk gown – which now had a large rip down one side, thanks to Malfoy – into a pair of jeans and a jumper before she pulled them on quickly.

"Erm…." Hermione muttered when Malfoy joined her, picking up his own wand as he dressed himself.

He glanced over at her, one eyebrow quirked.

"I erm… need you to perform a contraceptive charm," Hermione blurted, a blush staining her cheeks pink as she said so.

"Right… bloody hell," Malfoy said. He ran his hand through his damp hair as he strode towards her, his shirt hanging open and revealing his washboard abs. Hermione tensed when he lifted the hem of her jumper to expose her stomach before he muttered the charm. Hermione felt the spell sink into her flesh with a strange cooling sensation that made the ache in her abused uterus throb painfully.

"Thanks," Hermione whispered, lowering her jumper again when he was done.

"Don't mention it," he replied in a tone that made her think the mounting awkwardness wasn't just her imagination.

"Do I need to, erm… threaten you to keep this to yourself?" Hermione asked awkwardly. Unable to meet his gaze she stared at her fingers, toying with the hem of her jumper.

"I think it's safe to say I'm well aware we both have reputations to maintain, Granger," Malfoy replied evenly. "Both of which would suffer should this little… soiree… get out. Trust me, I'll be taking this to the grave."

Hermione nodded, sighing a little in relief.

"Ok good. I'll erm… I'm going to go… I'll… see you," Hermione stammered out uncomfortably, turning towards the exit and crossing over to the door. Her hand was on the doorknob when he called out to her.

"Granger?"

Hermione turned towards him slowly, daring to raise her eyes to his silver pair.

"This can never happen again," he warned quietly. He waved a hand between the two of them indicatively. Hermione nodded empathically in agreement, not daring to say a word lest she be terribly rude. Or vomit. Either was an option.

Spinning back to the door, Hermione opened it and slipped through it, regret churning with embarrassment and awkwardness inside her already queasy stomach. He was right. It could never happen again.

Hermione wondered why she had a terrible, sinking feeling inside to think that it still might.


	2. Chapter 1

**A/N: Many thanks for you support. Much love! xx-Kitten.**

* * *

 **The Silver Dragon**

 _By Kittenshift17_

* * *

 **CHAPTER ONE**

* * *

 _Three years later_

* * *

Agony. She awoke in utter agony. Hermione had never felt so wretched in all her life; not even after she'd been tortured with the Cruciatus curse. Opening her eyes blearily, Hermione sighed in relief to see that she'd managed to make it home. Her familiar duvet met her gaze before Hermione caught sight of the familiar wallpaper of her bedroom.

Thank Merlin for small mercies.

If she was home, it meant she hadn't done something stupid again last night after the wedding ceremony of Ron Weasley and his wife, Camilla Puckle. And for Hermione Granger that was very good news. It had been three long years since the morning she'd woken up in bed with Draco Malfoy. Three long years of seemingly endless torment. Torment that involved things getting out of hand at every other function and her ending up in bed with the smug blond git all over again.

Hermione was only too grateful to be waking up alone in her flat after a function. In the beginning, it had been more than a year after she'd shagged him that first time before they'd even acknowledged the other's existance. They moved in different circles, worked in different parts of the Ministry and generally didn't interact. Except at functions. Hermione always made sure to take a date with her to such things these days. Not that it helped. A year after their first steamy encounter, Hermione had attended a charity ball held at Malfoy Manor raising funds for the reconstruction effort to restore the damage done to some parts of the Ministry that had yet to be fixed after the war.

She'd been reluctant to go, even though every Ministry employee and several other important people from other professions had been invited. Hermione had been asked to attend with Anthony Goldstein as her date and she had graciously accepted his offer.

The night had been a disaster.

Oh, the charity had been a hit; everyone was more than happy to contribute to restoring the Ministry properly. However, nothing else had run smoothly. Ron has used the dinner as the 'perfect' platform to very publicly ask his girlfriend of only a few months if she would marry him. Hermione would admit that after _that_ had happened, she'd perhaps had a few too many drinks. That night she had snogged a very surprised Anthony before ditching him for a lousy kisser. She'd wandered the gardens of Malfoy Manor as she tried to control the urge to sob her heart out over the fact that Ron would never love her again.

Malfoy had found her in the garden by the fountain-pond, deep in the grounds of the Manor. He'd come out of nowhere, if she was honest. She could still recall the way she'd been sitting on the edge of the pond, admiring the spectacular fountain and plotting ways to best do away with Ron's fiancé without being caught when suddenly Draco Malfoy had come storming along. Hermione had been particularly drunk by then, having made off with a decanter of whiskey she'd found inside somewhere when she'd rushed away from the scene where Ron proposed so romantically.

She could recall the way Malfoy had half-stumbled into the clearing around the fountain, cursing foully the entire way. She recalled, too, that he'd been furious because his parents had been riding him to get a move on with things and settle on a good pure-blooded witch. Even Weasley was getting married and Draco was still single and that would _never_ do.

Hermione had only been to Malfoy Manor once since that night – and had doggedly avoided the gardens - but she would forever blush crimson if she laid eyes on the fountain again because she'd let Draco Malfoy fuck her in it. Sopping wet, dress hitched up about her waist, she'd fucked him as hard as the first time and she'd let him drag her back to his bedroom for several more rounds – taking a secret entrance and the uninhabited corridors to get there without being caught.

The morning after that venture Hermione had woken in his bed with him spooned around her once more and aches all over her body. And if she were to be totally honest, it had become something of a regular thing between the two of them. Oh, they never sought one another out on purpose. In fact, the only time she ever shagged him was when there was some function they were both obligated to attend and something awful happened.

Which had happened a grand total of twelve times in three years.

The worst one – the one Hermione was most ashamed of – was when he'd personally invited her to attend his engagement party. Oh, Hermione had already received a formal invitation of course – the entire wizarding community had been invited to the engagement celebration of Draco Malfoy and Astoria Greengrass. Hermione had been intending to give the night a miss, if she was honest. She didn't want to be a home-wrecker and she knew that if she attended, she'd end up in bed with Draco again. The man despised his fiancé with an abiding passion that he never displayed except when he was alone with Hermione.

She'd been preparing to RSVP with her declination to attend when Malfoy had turned up at her office at the Ministry late one evening three weeks before the party. Hermione could still recall the shock she'd felt through her entire body when she'd looked up at the sound of footsteps, frowning with concern given that she was working late and ought to have been alone. Finding him in the doorway, dressed in the formal robes that he wore to work every day, his hair ever so slightly tousled, he'd eyeballed her from the doorway.

She recalled stilling beneath his intense silver gaze. They never sought one another out at the office or anywhere else. The only times she and Draco Malfoy interacted were when they had too much to drink and could slip away from formal functions unnoticed. Therefore, Hermione would admit she'd been slightly off-balance to find him in her office, glaring at her from the far side of her desk.

Hermione bit her lip as she recalled looking guiltily down at the party invitation she'd been poised to decline.

"I'm going to assume that your late RSVP is an acceptance?" he'd drawled in a voice that was low and dangerous.

"I can't go to you engagement party, Malfoy," Hermione had shaken her head.

"You _will,_ " he'd insisted, his eyes hardening threateningly at her.

"You know I can't," Hermione had hissed. "You _know_ it's bad idea. You're bloody engaged, Malfoy! I'm not getting anywhere near you on a night as important as your engagement party."

"Granger," he'd warned. Hermione could still recall the thrum of fear she'd felt zing through her veins when he'd taken a threatening step around her desk before she had time to scramble to her feet.

"Malfoy," she recalled retorting in the same tone. It was a bad idea. She knew it was a bad idea to attend his engagement soiree. He was sodding engaged to be married and she didn't doubt that he was furious about it. To make matters worse, Hermione found Astoria to be a cold, simpering little swot and she pitied Malfoy somewhat that he had to marry the woman. And she knew he _had_ to. His parents were forcing him.

"You'll be there," he'd demanded.

"I won't. You know what will happen if I attend," Hermione had protested, getting to her feet to glare at him so he couldn't loom over her quite so much as he did when she was seated behind her desk.

"Why do you think I'm insisting you be there?" he'd smirked cruelly.

He had snatched the unmarked invitation off her desk, taken up her discarded quill and marked it as accepting the invitation. He'd also put her down for a plus one.

"No… I…" Hermione had protested, watching him do it. "I don't have a date. I'm not going."

"You _are_ going," he'd retorted. "And you're bringing a date. Don't look at me like that; you know as well as I do that there are any number of hapless wankers willing to date you. Ask one of them."

"Malfoy!" Hermione had protested, finding herself overwhelmed by his looming presence and the intoxicating scent of the cologne he wore. "This is a horrible idea."

"Me marrying that simpering little bitch is a horrible idea," Hermione could recall him retorting, his distaste for his fiancé showing on his pointed face. "Smiling and posturing in front of the entire wizarding community over the fact is also a _horrible_ idea."

Hermione had gulped when he'd stepped even closer to her, tucking her marked RSVP into his pocket and closing the distance between them until his thighs brushed against hers inside her fitted dress. If she were honest, looking back, she'd admit he'd scared her a little bit then. They never usually interacted except when they got drunk and fucked each other so hard they could hardly move.

"You attending the ridiculous party, on the other hand, is the best idea I've had in a while," he'd continued, his voice still dangerous and low as he spoke, his silver eyes boring into her chocolate pair.

"Malfoy, you're engaged! We can't!" Hermione had shaken her head, _trying_ to do the honourable thing. Trying to respect the sanctity of marriage and all that other bollocks. Astoria Greengrass might be a horrid person whom Malfoy despised and didn't at all want to marry, but she deserved better than a fiancé who would cheat on her with someone like Hermione. Merlin, Hermione deserved better than shagging a bloke who would do such a thing to his fiancé.

Hermione recalled the way she'd flinched when she felt his cold hand caress the side of her neck, running over the sensitive flesh and up into her hair where he'd pulled the clip she'd used to style her hair that day free until her long curls tumbled loose down her back.

"Watch me," he'd practically purred. Hermione could still remember the way she'd trembled at the tone in his voice as he'd trailed his fingertips back down her neck before he'd placed her hair clip on her desk, stepped back from her with a wicked smirk and stalked right back out of the office, leaving Hermione standing there with her heart racing inside her chest and a terrible, telling dampness inside her knickers.

She'd attended his ridiculous engagement party with Oliver Wood as her date. She'd worn an eye-catching red silk dress that looked entirely proper and innocent from the front. High-necked, floor-length with sleeves to the elbow, it looked entirely respectable. Until she turned around. Hermione had fallen in love with the dress when she'd spotted the backless cut of the garment, revealing the entire expanse of her back all the way down to her hips. She'd worn her hair pinned in a sleek up-do to better show off the back.

Ordinarily, Hermione wasn't one for fashion but the dress had called her name loud and clear from the store window when she'd spotted it. And it hadn't disappointed. She might not have outdone the classic and beautiful periwinkle princess dress Astoria Greengrass had worn to her engagement party, but Hermione knew it had captured Malfoy's attention. She knew because the minute she'd been escorted into the ballroom on Oliver Wood's arm and led down the stairs into the party, she'd felt Malfoy's gaze on her. She hadn't chosen the dress to garner his attention of course, she'd just liked it, but that hadn't changed the fact that he'd looked at her like he wanted to fuck her right there in front of everyone.

Offering the 'happy' couple her congratulations had been quite the task with butterflies fluttering wildly in her stomach. She'd seen the look in Malfoy's eyes when he'd met her gaze. That one that promised she was going to be properly ravaged later that evening. She'd danced, she'd laughed and she'd drank sparingly that night. There was something different to the quality of the evening, knowing she'd been invited personally because Malfoy wanted her there and wanted to fuck her. In the past, their interactions had been unplanned. They always vowed after every mistake that it couldn't happen again.

Knowing he'd changed the rules had kept Hermione from drinking as much as she might've, and in fact she'd had a wonderful night. Oliver had made a delightful date – always happy to dance with her and understanding when she wanted to socialise whenever she grew tired of his incessant Quidditch chatter. Ginny had nudged Hermione all evening, hinting not-so-subtly that Oliver would make a wonderful boyfriend and that he got on well with both Harry and Ron.

And both of those things had been true. Despite her misdemeanours with Malfoy, Hermione believed she'd done a fantastic job of concealing her heartache over Ron and she'd endeavoured never to make it awkward between them as friends. Hence ending up in Malfoy's embrace in the first place.

She'd been thinking of escaping late in the evening, bailing on the idea of letting Malfoy work out his frustration with life by fucking her, when someone had snagged her elbow as she'd been returning from a trip to the loo. Hermione had realised her mistake instantly at the feel of that cool hand on her elbow. She'd grown impatient waiting for the bathroom closest to the ballroom and had wandered off through Malfoy Manor to find another one.

A mistake.

Malfoy had dragged her none too gently away from the crowded areas of the party, deep into the Manor until even the sound of the music from the ballroom was nothing more than a whisper. Hermione was ashamed to say she'd let him. As horrible a person as it made her to be shagging someone else's fiancé on the night of his engagement party, Hermione had allowed him to shove her up against the wall of what looked like a little used music room before she'd snogged him hungrily.

She'd known he was drunk.

She'd seen him drinking copious amounts of whiskey all evening, forced to smile and laugh and play along as though he was besotted with his fiancé when Hermione knew very well that he wasn't. She wanted to use his lack of feeling for his fiancé as an excuse, but Hermione knew she was a rotten person.

He'd taken great delight in licking the entire length of her spine without stripping her out of her dress. He'd also taken perverse enjoyment from throwing her up on top of the grand piano in the room before climbing up after her and fucking her furiously atop it. Hermione had let him, despite her only mild intoxication. She'd let him mutter his hatred for his fiancé into her neck between sucking kisses and nips of her skin. She'd let him impale her on his cock again and again until she'd screamed. She'd let him fuck her into a stupor.

She'd woken wrapped in his arms on the floor beneath the piano sometime before dawn and Hermione had been horrified to learn that they'd clearly forgotten to return to the party. Not that that was anything new, really. However, that had been the first time in their shagging history that Hermione had left his embrace and his presence without showering with him. She'd crawled free of his arms while he grumbled about the early hour and tried to hold her still, before locating her dress and pulling it back on. She'd carried her shoes over to the fireplace in the room, all too pleased to discover that every fireplace in Malfoy Manor seemed able to be used to exit via Floo.

A smidgeon of Floo powder and a shout for home later and Hermione had been back in her flat, proverbially licking her wounds from what Malfoy had done to her. She'd owled Oliver to inform him she was terribly sorry for having left the party without bidding him goodbye, claiming a weak stomach after accidentally ingesting foi gras. She'd showered, slept a while longer and gone to work the next morning as though she weren't a home-wrecking tramp.

She and Malfoy never spoke about it, just as they never spoke about any of their encounters. Hermione knew it was for the best. After all, she certainly didn't fancy the git and she knew he didn't fancy her. They were each simply an outlet for the rage, frustration and hatred the other was suffering. And Hermione was fine with that. If she ever did cross paths with him at work or anywhere else that wasn't a function when something terrible happened, they would acknowledge each other only with the barest of glances, eyes meeting for fleeting seconds before looking away again.

It suited Hermione just fine. She didn't want to have anything more to do with Draco Malfoy than was necessary and she'd begun to view their terribly rough and wild sexual escapades as necessary. A necessary release of emotion through a physical outlet. She never dwelled over-long on the fact that she often woke on mornings after a night with him to find finger-shaped bruises adorning much of her body. She certainly refused to examine the fact that he clearly had a penchant for spanking her and choking her, and that she was apparently willing to let him whilst sloshed off her knockers.

Things never grew awkward until after they shared a morning shower before leaving wherever they'd ended up and Hermione was just fine with that too. However, it begged the question of what she was doing waking up alone in her own bed inside her flat on the morning after Ron's wedding. If ever there was a call for her to need an outlet for her emotions through the rough and tumble shagging of Draco Malfoy, it ought to have been the previous evening.

Hermione took stock of herself and realised she felt even worse this morning than she'd ever felt after shagging Malfoy. Her whole body ached and throbbed as though she'd been hit by a truck. That was unusual. Yes, he tended to leave her sore and sorry, and yes, he was terribly rough, but Hermione had grown rather accustomed to that – much to her shame.

She'd never felt _this_ wretched.

Her entire left side between her shoulder and her hip ached and stung terribly. She could feel an all-too-familiar ache between her legs that suggested she'd shagged someone last night – but who? Dragging herself across the silk sheets of her bed – an indulgence she'd enjoyed since the time she'd fucked Malfoy in his bed at the Manor – Hermione cursed foully as she stumbled out of bed and pain assaulted her.

Her eyes lit on her naked body across the room in her full length mirror and Hermione screamed.

Sweet Merlin, what had she done? Hermione stumbled to the mirror, ignoring the pain in her shock as her eyes examined the reason her side was aching so.

She had a tattoo.

She, Hermione Jean Granger, had an honest to Merlin _tattoo_. How could this be? She was sensible – most of the time. She'd never done anything overly wild, not since the war – she didn't count Malfoy, of course. She'd certainly never permanently marked her skin with anything.

Her eyes were wide and scared as they travelled the image marring her flesh. It was a dragon. A silver and black one. It wasn't enormous. In fact, the longer she looked, the more Hermione began to admire it. It was a Norwedgian Ridgeback, if she wasn't mistaken – and she was rarely mistaken. The size of her two hands put together lengthways, its long neck arched and curved up her ribcage towards her armpit before its head curled to be bearing its fangs just at the top of her left breast. Its body and its legs were spread over the rest of her left-side ribs, one of its claws curling beneath her breast and looking as though they pierced the skin. Its tail ended in a sharp spike just at the highest tip of her left hip.

If she wasn't mistaken, it looked like the beast was guarding her heart.

The ink was thick and looked like it had been done in pure molten silver; the scales and spikes of the dragon were shaded and properly enhanced with black. Its eyes seemed to glare at her, warning anyone else who saw it to stay away from Hermione's heart. Trailing her fingertips gently over the length of the raised tattoo, Hermione bit her lip. It stung, clearly still raw and fresh from being inked.

Yet, it also felt kind of good.

There were no other tell-tale marks on her body that would indicate she'd shagged Malfoy last night. There were no finger-shaped bruises. No love-bites. No scratches. Turning slightly so she could see her bum, Hermione made sure there were none of the welts he left behind when he spanked her. Sighing in relief that she hadn't done something stupid like shagging Malfoy, Hermione returned her attention to the fact that she'd instead gone out and gotten a tattoo.

She couldn't remember a thing from the previous evening. Her mind was utterly blank. She recalled going to the wedding and watching Ron take his vows with Camilla. And that was it. The rest was blank. Sweet Merlin, Hermione hoped she hadn't made an arse of herself. She hoped she hadn't done something outrageous, like object to the union.

As she met her own gaze in the mirror, Hermione noticed a note stuck to the glass at eye level.

 ** _Go to the bathroom_** **.**

Hermione frowned, removing the note but heeding the advice. Inside the bathroom she found an array of potions on the bench.

 ** _Drink me_**.

They all bore notes stating the same thing. Hermione frowned at the potions, trying to understand what they were about. She'd never left herself notes whilst out of her head drunk before.

One of them was a contraception potion, so Hermione took that first, not at all trusting the ache and slight stickiness between her legs. She'd had sex last night. She could tell. And the last thing she needed was to get pregnant. Especially when the most likely candidate for her sexual partner was engaged to be married. Given the lack of signs that it had been him she'd shagged, however, Hermione was only too eager to ensure she didn't get pregnant with someone else's child either. Someone she didn't even remember. That was going to make for an awkward meeting with whomever it had been.

The next potion was a Hangover Potion, and Hermione gulped that one down as well, relieved when her headache and the nausea in her stomach dissipated. The final potion was one she didn't recognise by name, but knew by scent. It was one she'd been perfecting herself. A Memory potion. Designed to return one's memories to them after a wild night out drinking or after suffering the effects of a Memory Charm. She'd been working on it to restore her parent's memories.

She didn't understand why she'd called it the name she'd written on the bottle, but Hermione drank it nonetheless.

 ** _Get in the shower, now._**

A final note said, hidden under the Memory Potion and Hermione shrugged her shoulders, trusting her addled judgement and knowing she'd probably need to heed the advice anyway. She had to get to work today and she knew the Memory potion tended to induce mild vomiting.

Climbing under the spray, Hermione Granger closed her eyes and waited for the potion to kick in. She regretted it instantly when the memories of what she'd done last night, who she'd shagged and why she had a tattoo, all came flooding back to her in slow motion.


	3. Chapter 2

**A/N: Your kind words are very much appreciated. Much love! xx-Kitten.**

* * *

 **The Silver Dragon**

 _By Kittenshift17_

* * *

 **CHAPTER TWO**

* * *

He woke to the feel of someone's fingertips caressing his bare back lightly.

Draco hummed appreciatively, "That feels nice."

The sensation continued, but when no response came – expecting the scorn of his favourite muggleborn – Draco opened his eyes slowly. He frowned at the sight of his bedroom suite at the Manor. A bedroom suite devoid of one, Hermione Granger, and Draco became aware of the fact that beneath that caressing sensation, he ached all over.

Frowning in confusion, Draco twisted slightly, trying to locate whoever it was that was caressing his back. A chill raced down his spine to learn he was alone.

"What the fuck?" he murmured. His head ached with trying to make sense of his surroundings and his pain. He felt like he'd been trampled by a herd of rampaging hippogriffs. He also recognised the distinct ache in his muscles that tended to follow a night with Granger.

Where the fuck was his witch?

 ** _Your_** _witch?_ his subconscious sneered, _Now she's your witch? Is that what you think?_

Draco ignored his snobby subconscious even as he recoiled to realise he had just thought of Granger as belonging to him. She most certainly did _not_ belong to him. Theirs was an unspoken agreement for rough sex when the frustrations of life became too much and nothing more. He didn't even recall seeing her the night before, though the tell-tale lingering scent of lilacs and honeysuckle told him she'd clearly been there. He'd recognise the scent of her skin in his sleep.

She'd been there, but she was gone. That seemed clear. And that was unusual. She'd only bailed on his once before without a morning shower and that had been three months ago after his engagement party when he couldn't get away with escorting her in her bright red dress back through the Manor and to his bedroom after he'd fucked her sideways in the music room.

A crumple of parchment beneath his cheek when he laid his spinning head back down made Draco frown and he snatched at the offending note. He didn't recognise the elegant and slanted handwriting.

 ** _Get up and look in the mirror._**

The note commanded. It said nothing else. No signature to identify the scribe. No tell-tale signs that whoever had written it cared if he followed the instructions or not. Frowning in confusion over the very idea, Draco dragged himself from the bed. His head ached like he'd taken ten bludgers to the skull and fallen a hundred feet from his broom. The rest of him stung like all fuckeration and buggery as he slid from between the sheets.

The pain brought him to his knees and Draco groaned as he crumpled to the floor feeling like he'd died.

 _What the fuck_?

"Why am I in agony?" he groaned to himself, covering his face with his hands and trying to recall anything from the previous evening.

More determined than ever now to reach the mirror and understand why he stung and ached all over, Draco crawled the rest of the way, his eyes closed against the dizziness in his head. He didn't open them until he was standing – swaying – in front of the mirror, clutching the gilded edges of the frame tightly.

His eyes bugged out of his head and his stomach dropped at the sight that assaulted him. The majority of the pain came from his back, but the sight of something against his skin caught Draco's attention immediately. His pale flesh glittered with silver ink.

He had a tattoo.

A big one. From the front he could only see a large dragon claw, talons looking like they pierced the skin over his ribs on the left hand side. Trapped inside the sharp claws was a deep red item that looked like a book with gold page-trimming. The claw was located directly over his heart. Draco frowned. The dragon's head – a fierce and rather terrifying looking Nowedgian Ridgeback shaped head - snaked over his left shoulder to rest against his left pectoral muscle as though guarding the book his claw clutched to his heart.

On his right side there was another front-legged dragon claw – this one looking like it had been sunken into the hollow of his right shoulder. The only other visible tattooing on his front side was the spiked and deadly looking tail of the dragon that wrapped over his left hip and travelled the V of muscle down his abs, ending it a sharp spiked point just inside the white-blond curls of his pubic region.

"What the fuck?" Draco groaned, suspecting, based on the layout of what he could currently see, that the rest of the image took up his entire back. Twisting slightly so he could use the three-sided mirror to better see his back, Draco felt his heart begin to hammer inside his ribcage at the sight of his flesh.

Etched in silver ink across his back was the remaining body of the dragon. Its back claws looked as though they were being used to climb his back, dug into the flesh of his lats and his lumbar region. Its body twisted up the middle of his spine. The most heart-stopping feature was the enormous wingspan of the beast, inked from the middle of his shoulder blades and spread all the way across his upper back. They continued all the way down the backs of both arms to end in clawed wing points at his elbows.

The entire thing had been down in silver ink, shaded and properly endorsed with black for the scales and the other identifying features that made the dragon look like it was alive. The only bits not done in silver or black ink was the small book clutched in the beast's left talon against his heart. That was done it the deep red of partially dried blood with gold trimming. There was no title inked on the book, simply a blank cover peeking out from between the talons that had been etched as though speared into his flesh.

"Bloody hell!" Draco groaned again as he took in the sight of the enormous tattoo now adorning his body. He didn't understand. What the hell had he been thinking, getting a tattoo? Not that he didn't sort of like the design… in fact the longer he stared at it, drinking in the details through his hungover mind, Draco actually sort of liked the image itself. He just couldn't fathom what had driven him to get it.

He also had no clue how any tattooist could possibly have inked him with such an enormous and detailed tattoo in one evening. Even with the aid of magic. Smoothing his fingers over the length of the dragon's tail where it curled over his hip, Draco noticed the way it felt practically alive beneath his fingers. It was raised and it hurt a little to touch, but the agony he'd felt getting up was slowly dissipating – either that or he was just too shocked by the tattoo to feel the pain.

"What the hell did I do last night?" Draco asked his reflection before noticing that just a little bit above eye-level there was another note Spell-o-taped to the mirror.

 ** _Pretty, isn't it?_**

Draco turned it over, hoping for more information. Wandering in the direction of his washroom, Draco was still trying to work out who could have left him the notes. Surely Granger would have given him some hint that it had been her? He caressed the tail of his dragon as he went.

He turned on the taps of the shower before setting the note aside and climbing under the spray, hissing at the agony of the hot water scalding over the raw skin beneath his tattoo and Draco cursed foully. How the hell was he going to explain this? It was bad enough having to heal the marks Granger tended to leave on him whenever he shagged her.

Not that he had to worry about his stupid, simpering fiancé seeing the tattoo for another seven months. Like the prim and proper pureblood princess she was, Astoria wasn't shagging him yet and wouldn't be until their wedding night. As was dictated by pureblood society. Not that Draco was overly interested in fucking the little bint. She was nothing more than an annoyance that irked him to no end.

Perhaps he was being unfair to her – she was being pushed into this marriage as much as he was, Draco knew. Yet he couldn't forgive how well she played the part of dutiful and doting fiancé, smiling and simpering widely, petting his hand sometimes when she thought she could get away with it. Draco loathed her. She might be pretty too look at, a sparkling diamond jewel to be admired, but like the rock he compared her with, she was cold and sharp to the touch and of transparent personality.

The idea of wedding her and tolerating her for the rest of his natural life made him sick to his stomach and drove him to drink. Shit, the very idea drove him to shagging Granger. And that was no small feat. She drove him to overcome a lifetime of social conditioning and prejudice to veritably fuck a mudblood within an inch of her life on a semi-regular basis. Draco would admit that, after that first time when he'd fucked her so hard and done such despicable things to her, he'd been slightly intrigued.

It wasn't often he gave in to his darker nature and completely let loose on a woman. In fact, she was the first witch with whom he'd been entirely unrestrained and she'd barely batted an eye over the fact that, whilst fucking, they'd destroyed a hotel room and he'd left more marks on her than spots on a leopard. She'd not said a word about the bruises shaped like his hands that had collared her delicate throat. She hadn't done more than wince when he pointed out the welts on her arse where he'd flogged her with what he suspected had been his belt. The witch had even let him tie her to a bed and fuck her into oblivion.

More than once in the year that had followed that first encounter before they'd given in to a second round, Draco had fantasised about doing so again. He had dark and sometimes twisted tastes inside the bedroom and out of it. And he usually kept them all to himself. He blamed the horrors of his youth on his warped sense of pleasure. During that year Draco had caught sight of Granger a number of times whilst at work. He'd see her in an elevator or cross paths with her in a crowded corridor or spot her across the lunch hall.

She'd studiously pretended he didn't exist for the entire year beyond every now and then meeting his eyes for a fraction of a second. Draco, on the other hand, had caught himself watching her occasionally, noting the way she would throw her head back when she laughed – inevitably exposing her throat. Draco could admit – privately – that he was rather enamoured with her neck. Long, feminine and undeniably delicate, he often found himself fantasising about nuzzling into it, knowing she sprayed her lilac and honeysuckle perfume there. Knowing she'd let him wrap his hands around the vulnerable flesh and squeeze hard enough to bruise as though he might squeeze the life right out of her.

Draco didn't delude himself into believing that he fancied her or vice versa, but he could admit he fancied the release she brought when she inevitably fell into bed with him again. He never sought her out intentionally, not even when he was itching for a fuck. Not unless they were both at a function and something upset her. He didn't need anything in particular to upset him these days – he was simply always angry. Always frustrated. He loathed that he was being pushed into this marriage with Greengrass for the purpose of a political alliance and joint business venture.

But Granger needed to be pushed. She needed to work herself into a tizzy about something and begin drinking before he could even think about approaching her for the purpose of fucking him blind. Weasley was her biggest trigger and though she smiled and put on a show of how over him she was and how she was pleased that he was happy with his new wife, Draco knew she secretly loathed the ginger bastard as much as she loved him.

Something would trigger her tizzy and she'd begin to drink. Draco loved those functions. He drank too much most nights to need much of a push to get himself drunk enough to fuck her. He also usually had to keep his wits enough to sneak off with the little savage without being caught by his parents, his friends, his fiancé or her nosy companions. Thus far, they'd been lucky.

Draco knew on a perverted, twisted level that he and Granger had begun trusting one another with their dark secrets long before now. She kept quiet about his hatred for his fiancé and his penchant for spanking her silly. He kept quiet about the fact that every now and then she'd fly into a rage, tie him to a bed and ride him like she was a professional dragon-racer. He also kept it to himself that she secretly wished death upon Ron Weasley's wife and pox upon the ginger bastard, too.

The only time they'd ever broken protocol of ignoring one another and pretending they'd never shagged was before his engagement party three months ago. Draco had known when his mother mentioned not having heard back from the witch that she was going to decline the invitation. She was letting her moral compass get the best of her. She didn't think it would be right for her to attend – clearly knowing he'd be in fine form – when he was celebrating being engaged to another woman.

He'd gone to her office late that evening, knowing from watching her for three years that she always stayed late on Thursdays. The sight of her sitting alone at her desk and clearly agonising over the decision to go or not had amused him in a most perverse manner. That she'd been wearing a form fitting work-dress that showed off her delectable figure had enticed him further and he'd found himself entering her office and demanding that she attend – going so far as to take the decision out of her hands.

Draco smirked to himself as he stood under the warm spray of the shower, recalling the way her breathing had come in sharp little pants, her pupils dilated and her cheeks slightly flushed as he'd stepped close enough to be pressed against her. The feel of her silky skin beneath his fingers before he'd unpinned her hair made them tingle just thinking about doing so again. Salazar's rod, he enjoyed unsettling her. He liked the way she was so unintentionally expressive in her reactions to him.

He might not much fancy her – honestly, he didn't know her well enough to fancy her – but he fancied the way she was so effected by him and the way, despite her misgivings, she'd come to his engagement party. He'd nearly had a heart attack when she'd turned up in that bright red dress, stealing the limelight away from his undeniably beautiful bride-to-be. When he'd first laid eyes on her, Draco had thought she'd dressed so as to avoid drawing his gaze and his attention, all but her forearms concealed beneath the crimson fabric of her gown.

Nonetheless, she'd been like a beacon for his gaze in such an eye-catching colour, and a welcome distraction from his already tipsy ponderings about murdering his fiancé. Draco had been bored out of his mind, smiling and thanking everyone, pretending to be a delighted husband-to-be. He'd already been six glasses of whiskey in by the time Granger turned up, fashionably late. He had barely noticed Wood on her arm, escorting her into the ballroom and all the way over to where he and Astoria had been accepting commiserations – er, congratulations.

Granger had done the proper thing, coming over with a warm smile on her face and offering her best wishes to Astoria and to Draco himself. He'd even caught the glint in her eyes when she'd met his gaze that suggested she knew just how much he didn't want to marry the witch on his arm. She'd smiled through her pretty white teeth in such a way that Draco had imagined she'd instead told him not to sweat the marriage because she would fuck him into oblivion either way.

And then she had turned away from him and allowed Wood to invite her to dance. Draco suspected even his wife-to-be had heard the muffled groan he'd emitted at the sight of her flawless skin exposed by the backless cut of her dress, showing off her petite body rife with delicate feminine curves and just begging for his attention. He'd played off his noise as a sudden cramp in his calf-muscle – something he'd already been muttering complaints about after standing still for so long.

It had taken more liquor than he'd ever consumed up until that date to keep from abandoning Astoria, barging in on Granger's dance with Wood and fucking her right there on the ballroom floor in front of everyone. His mother had scolded his poor manners as he'd skolled several glasses of fire-whiskey within the next ten minutes. He'd also caught the pinch of Astoria's lips, indicating her silent judgement of his alcoholism. Draco had taunted her by returning the expression – a favourite of his mother's – and sneering at her.

She'd been furious with him when he'd proceeded to ditch her in favour of finding his friends and even more liquor, all the while keeping an eye trained on Granger.

Leaning against the wall of the shower and trying to ignore the pounding in his head, Draco found himself lamenting Granger's absence. He was rather put out, actually, by the fact that twice now he'd fucked that irksome little muggleborn and she'd not had the decency to stick around long enough to shower with him the following morning. He tended to enjoy the sight she made when she was so impossibly well shagged that she looked like he'd tried to murder her.

Not to mention she was rather enjoyable to hold under the hot water. She never spoke more than necessary while she showered with him and she shared in suffering his pounding head and aching muscles. Bloody hell, what was the world coming to that he was missing a mudblood? Just a bit. More importantly, she might have some recollection of how the hell he'd gone out and gotten an enormous dragon tattoo.

Draco had no recollection whatsoever of the previous evening. Oh, he knew he'd been invited to Weaselbee's wedding – mostly out of courtesy given that they worked together – and he'd had no intention of going until he'd recalled that Granger would be there and would undoubtedly be keen for a fuck after such an emotionally wrought evening. He vaguely recalled that she'd taken Wood with her again as her date – Draco suspected she might be seeing the Quidditch player.

He also recalled that he'd neglected to invite Astoria along with him, despite his mother's urging to do so. The witch was still rather put out with him about their engagement party and Draco hadn't wanted to deal with needing to escort her around all evening – fiancé or not – when he was going to be shagging Granger at the end of the night. It was one thing to get away with bailing on her at functions after returning her to her door or after her parents had escorted her home – as was proper in pureblood society – but entirely another whilst at a colleague's wedding that Astoria did not know or like.

There was also the fact that he would be seducing one of the bridesmaids – Granger – and therefore needed to keep an eye on her the whole night. In all honesty, he'd felt almost obligated to keep Granger from doing anything stupid, like objecting to the union, when he was the only person who knew she loathed the bride and sometimes wanted to maim the groom. Not that she was a poor friend, exactly, just that she was still sucking on sour grapes over the fact that Weasley had moved on from her after their break up three years earlier.

Being that he was the only one who knew her true feelings on the matter, he'd taken it to be his job to ensure she didn't make a fuss or make a fool of herself and ruin the wedding. The last thing he remembered was taking her hand when she'd been at the punch table, intending to refill her cup for the twelfth time in the two hours she'd been at the reception. He could dimly recall steering her away from the crowd and over to some structure in the gardens of the bride's family home.

The last thing he remembered was snogging the inebriated witch and feeling her hands sinking into his blond hair. Then everything went blank. That was it. He didn't recall leaving the wedding. He didn't recall fucking her. He certainly didn't recall getting a giant tattoo. Shit, he was going to have to seek her out. She could be the only one who'd left him the notes, directing him to look in the mirror and commenting on the apparent prettiness of the design. No one else would've been in his bedroom suite. Astoria was strictly forbidden and his parents weren't likely to have come in and not murdered him at the sight of the tattoo.

And despite the rumours to the contrary, Draco wasn't shagging anyone else. He couldn't afford to. He got away with shagging Granger because she had as much to lose as he did if the arrangement ever got out and would undoubtedly keep her trap shut about it. Every other witch in wizarding Britain would fuck him with the intention of having him knock them up so they could get their hands on the Malfoy fortune. Or they'd fuck him to spite Astoria and blab about it to the papers. Draco couldn't afford to have that happen. His father would kill him.

Draco groaned to himself when he heard someone banging on his bedroom door dimly. It would be his mother, he was certain, wanting to grill him about not taking Astoria with him to the wedding. Blast it all, he needed to get to work! Weaselbee was a right bastard for having his wedding on a Sunday. Turning the taps off, Draco wrapped his dripping form in his bathrobe – choosing it rather than just his towel lest his mother see his tattooed flesh.

"What?" he growled, when he'd snatched open the door whilst still dripping wet.

He blinked in surprise to find his father standing outside the door.

"You're alive, then," Lucius sneered at him, looking wickedly amused.

"Did you imagine I wouldn't be?" Draco snarked. He turned his back on the man, leaving the door open as he crossed back to the bathroom to fetch a towel for his sopping hair.

"I wondered if your mother might've murdered you for going against her direct orders and refusing to accompany your fiancé to a wedding," Lucius drawled. He strolled into Draco's bedroom suite, making himself right at home.

"I've not seen her this morning," said Draco, scrubbing furiously at his hair with a towel before opening his medicine cabinet and uncorking a phial of hangover potion. He kept it well stocked for the simple fact that he drank too fucking much to cope with his life where he was engaged to a spiteful bitch he loathed and increasingly infatuated with a mudblood he ought not to have ever looked twice at.

"Indeed?" Lucius asked from the settee in Draco's suite where an elf was delivering a tea tray and Lucius was going about fixing himself and Draco a cup of tea.

Draco scowled, realising his father was intending to have a chat with him. The man would be suspicious if Draco didn't go about his usual morning routine of not caring about his father seeing him shirtless. Fuck, Lucius was going to have an elephant when saw Draco's tattoo.

Stalking into his walk-in robe, Draco chose to hurriedly dress in a dark shirt and his trousers inside it before emerging to avoid detection. It was just as well he rarely wore white shirts because he got the feeling his tattoo would be noticeable through the fabric.

"Well, tell me about last night then?" Lucius prompted when Draco emerged, finishing up the last of his buttons.

"What do you want to know?" Draco rolled his eyes. "It was a typical pauper wedding. Droll ceremony, dull reception atmosphere and cheesy vows."

"Who is she, Draco?" Lucius asked him suddenly and Draco quirked an eyebrow at his father.

"The bride?" he asked. "Some Hufflepuff from a few years behind me at Hogwarts. Camilla Puckle. Mudblood, I think. Clearly thick as a board if she willingly married Weaselbee."

Draco felt his insides squirm uncomfortably despite his hangover potion when Lucius smirked at him over the rim of his teacup, a wide, conniving kind of smirk that set Draco's teeth on edge. That smirk was _not_ a good sign.

"Indeed? And yet you felt the need to attend such a wedding with such dull company alone. Without your bride-to-be?" Lucius asked silkily. Draco knew then that Lucius knew something.

"Excuse me for not being interested in babysitting a sneering, simpering, vapid little bitch all night," Draco retorted acerbically. "Not all of us can be so dedicated as to wish to spend every minute with their wife, Father."

Lucius's smirk widened as Draco took up his tea and sniffed it carefully for any hints of Veritaserum, not at all trusting his father not to use the illicit substance.

"Do you imagine me to be blind, Draco?" Lucius practically purred at him when Draco took a small sip of the refreshing beverage.

"Of course not, Father," Draco answered warily.

"Why then, do you believe it might have escaped my notice that often of late you have been deserting your bride-to-be - often escorting her home - before continuing to spend the entire night away from the Manor yet often not seen in pleasant company again? And usually left worse for wear when you do return home?" Lucius asked.

Draco's stomach dropped, his heart beginning to pound inside his chest. The man knew. Maybe not whom it was that Draco was fucking, but he knew Draco was fucking someone.

"Father, you are shoving me into a marriage I have no interest in with a woman I would cheerfully use the Killing Curse on," he retorted coldly. "Do you imagine I reconcile those facts and the requirement that I must smile, laugh and otherwise posture for the cause, merely by contenting myself with the notion that I've no choice?"

Lucius's grey eyes gleamed at Draco then, positively alive with curiosity.

"Do tell then, Draco, how you reconcile those facts?" his father wanted to know.

Draco looked away from the man, and sipped his tea, refusing to share the information. He wasn't about to admit to fucking a mudblood on a semi-regular basis. Not to Lucius.

"What is her name, Draco?" Lucius purred and were it not for his life-long conditioning to expect the unexpected, Draco might've sloshed tea all over himself to find his Father suddenly very much in his personal space, his lips at Draco ear and demanding answers as he loomed over him.

"Whose name, Father?" Draco asked. He turned his head to meet Lucius's cold gaze unflinchingly.

"Do not play coy with me, son," Lucius warned. "You know how it piques my curiosity."

"I've no idea whom you could be referring to Father. I merely meant to imply I reconcile my displeasure with copious amounts of alcohol," Draco said evenly, holding his father's gaze even though he wanted desperately to flee. His father's predatory expression was one he knew well enough and it usually meant he was soon to be in strife. Draco wondered what was wrong with him that at twenty-six he still feared his father's meddling.

"Indeed?" Lucius asked, quirking an eyebrow. "So you deny that you've a mistress? You deny ever having laid hands on a woman since your betrothal?"

"Why, Father!" Draco exclaimed, faking indignant shock. "You think me some cad who might dally about on his intended?"

"Well, I know you're not shagging Astoria," Lucius replied. "You've made your distaste for her more than plain. I am warning you, Draco. I will discover the identity of your mistress. Your evasion of the topic suggests she is not someone I would approve of. I _will_ find out."

"What has gotten into your mind that you think I would take a mistress?" Draco asked.

"I heard her screaming last night," Lucius retorted. "When you declined to invite your bride to the wedding, I suspected you must have a reason for doing so. You ought to have taken her to a motel, son, because now your secret is out."

Draco's blood ran cold at his father's words.

"I had a woman here last night? Is that what you're suggesting?" Draco asked, trying for a little shock, as though it were news for him.

"Unless you've a particularly feminine scream and a penchant for screaming your own name?" Lucius replied, straightening to loom over Draco slightly.

"Perhaps I do," Draco smirked. "After all, it would be unbecoming of me to take a woman. I am betrothed to be wed, Father. And I can hardly fuck my wife given the rules of high society. Maypraps all I've left is my own hand and a wild imagination?"

Lucius smirked wider before finishing his tea.

"Indeed?" was all he said before he stalked out of Draco's suite without another word. Draco cursed the fact that his father also worked for the Ministry and so would be able to catch Draco if he attempted to contact Granger at the office. He needed to find out what the hell he'd done last night. The idea that he'd brought her back to the Manor was not a pleasant one, and Draco didn't doubt that he had. His sheets smelled of her and his father had clearly heard her in the throes of passion.

"Flick!" Draco commanded sharply, waiting for the house elf to appear.

"Yes, Master," the elf asked, bowing low.

"Strip the bed and wash the sheets immediately," he commanded. "And do _not_ , under any circumstances, allow my father access to them before they are clean."

The elf nodded, his eyes wide and concerned as he hurried over to the bed and snapped his fingers, causing the bedding to tear itself apart before he gathered it all up in his arms and disapparated to the laundry.

Lucius was clearly onto Draco's game and intended to find out who his opponent was. Draco could just imagine the horrors the man would unleash upon Granger should he ever learn the truth. Draco desperately needed to find out how he'd gotten a tattoo and why he'd brought Granger back to the Manor instead of a hotel last night and now he wouldn't have the chance to corner her about it at work.

Fuck!


	4. Chapter 3

**A/N: I'm so pleased you're enjoying this!**

* * *

 **The Silver Dragon**

 _By Kittenshift17_

* * *

 **CHAPTER THREE**

* * *

Hermione Granger sat slumped in the bottom of her shower, the water beating down upon her head as she hyperventilated.

Married!

She was fucking married!

How had this happened? In what alternate universe did this kind of horrible thing occur? She'd attended her ex-boyfriend's wedding last night and she'd come home married. And certainly not to Ronald Weasley. Oh no. That would be much too easy. No, when Hermione Granger messed up, she messed up big time. She snorted at herself over the very idea. Well, no one could ever accuse her of doing things by half, now could they?

No, not when she'd gone and gotten herself married to Draco fucking Malfoy!

Not when she'd made the biggest mistake of her young life and tied herself to him, bound in magic and in matrimony to the flaming bigoted git who'd been cruel to her all through Hogwarts. And who she turned to in her most desperate hours for out-of-this-world sex to make her forget her problems while she was off her chops. Could she have possibly done anything stupider?

Only she had.

Hermione snorted again as she tried to draw enough oxygen into her lungs to keep from passing out in the bottom of her shower. Not only had she bound herself to him in marriage – inadvertently kidnapping the Ministry official from Ron's wedding to officiate her union with Draco – Hermione had gone a step further on Draco's urging. Yes, rather than exchanging rings as a symbol of their ownership of one another – as was traditional in a marriage today – Draco had insisted upon a much less readily-obvious and much more permanent route for signifying ownership.

The tattoo she'd woken up with – the silver dragon guarding her heart – was the equivalent of her wedding band. Using very old and supposedly forgotten magic she and Draco had performed the ceremony to mark one another forever. The amount of magic woven into the silver tattoo adorning her ribs was enough to kill a small child. All of it was contained beneath her skin – hence the silvery hue of the tattoo. It wasn't ink at all. It was pure magic.

How could she have let this happen?

Not that she didn't know the answer. The Memory Potion she'd taken was brutally potent and she recalled, in vivid detail, every instance of last night's foolishness.

~O~O~O~O~ FLASHBACK ~O~O~O~O~O~

 _Hermione drank her way through the ceremony as her ex-boyfriend married the love of his life while she silently lamented that it wasn't her. She had a job to perform. She was a bridesmaid for Camilla – who'd graciously and vivaciously inserted herself into their lives some years earlier when she and Ron had begun dating. Hermione loathed her. She loathed her because the perky little witch was so bloody happy and friendly all the time that it was impossible not to like her._

 _Hermione despised that. Privately. In the comfort of her shower where she could shout obscenities about the wonderful little Hufflepuff Ron had landed himself. Where it was acceptable to still suffer the occasional feast of sour grapes. The only other time she was allowed to lament such things was in the relative safety of Draco Malfoy's fierce embrace when she was sloshed out of her mind and writhing beneath his rough treatment._

 _She glanced over at him from her place between Ginny and Camilla's sister – Giselle. She felt like a fraud standing there in her pretty pink dress, her hair scraped into a fancy up-do as per the bride's instruction. She knew Malfoy was the only one who would know it. He'd come alone tonight. That was a first. For a long time now he'd been accompanied by Astoria everywhere he went._

 _Hermione loathed him a little for the way he looked so handsome in his fancy dress robes for the wedding. He sat towards the back of the gathered guests, his blonde hair like a halo about his head in the twinkling fairy-lights. She'd already been drinking – she'd slipped a flask into her bag and had been sneaking drinks from it all day while she'd had her hair done and her make-up painted on. Ginny had caught her at it more than once but had only asked for one drink before she'd looked on with a combination of concern, annoyance and sympathy._

 _She didn't doubt the girl was aware Hermione was having a rough time pretending to be happy for Ron's bride-to-be when she'd always thought that would be her. She was itching for another drink now, trying to block out the sound of Ron victoriously vowing 'I DO' to his blushing bride. When she let her gaze stray to Malfoy again, she was surprised to find those fierce silver eyes fixed upon her face intently. He wasn't paying even a hint of attention to the ceremony as Camilla and Ron vowed themselves together for life._

 _He looked entirely too dashing when he smirked at her slowly as he held her gaze. Hermione knew she'd stared a little bit too long when Ginny subtly kicked her to make sure Hermione was paying attention. The little redhead was lucky Hermione didn't cry out. Knowing Malfoy was watching her made Hermione try a little harder. He was the only one who knew the truth of how difficult it was for her to stand there, biting her tongue as the officiate asked if anyone objected to the union. She met his gaze again, watching him subtly shake his head at her as though sensing the way the words gathered upon her tongue._

 _Hermione mimicked him carefully, very subtly shaking her head and swallowing the words down into her gut where they could simmer and sicken her further. The next time she looked in Malfoy's direction he was standing, clapping as the happy couple shared their first kiss as husband and wife. She was going to have to do something about the fact that Draco Malfoy had just helped her through the toughest night of her life._

 _When the ceremony ended, Hermione faked her smile all the way through the photos, posing with Harry, Ron, Ginny, Giselle and Camilla along with Ron's other two groomsmen – George and Neville. The entire time, people lingered about, many of them taking care to watch on and cheer for the happy couple. Molly insisted on far too many photos for Hermione's sanity and eventually she had slipped away in search of a drink._

 _One graciously provided by Malfoy – who'd looked on the entire time. Hermione's date to the wedding – Oliver – had come over moments later with a drink for her but he hadn't seemed put out by the fact that Hermione already had one in her hand. He also didn't seem to realise Malfoy had given it to her because the slick git had slipped away to mingle in the crowd before they could be caught interacting._

 _The rest of the evening had been spent drinking far too much and forcing smiles through many dances. Oliver was a fine dancer and he dragged her to the dance floor often. She also danced with George – her partner in the wedding party – and a blushing but particularly debonair Neville. Hermione had felt a more genuine smile slip across her face after dancing with Neville. The man had skill and his ease and comfort on the dancefloor transmitted to her smoothly enough._

 _When she wasn't dancing, Hermione found herself drinking. She'd lost count of the number of drinks she'd had before Malfoy appeared at her side once more and held out his hand towards her silently. Hermione raised her eyebrows at him questioningly, realising he was asking her to dance. She was beyond tipsy and it didn't seem like a particularly smart idea. Not that she hadn't danced with him before. There had been a few functions recently – since his engagement party – when he'd silently asked her to dance with him in just the same manner. She hadn't gone home with him after any of them and he'd asked many other women to dance – in what Hermione suspected was an attempt to avoid his fiancé._

 _Silently accepting his offered hand, Hermione allowed him to lead her onto the dancefloor in preparation for the next song. She wanted to laugh when it was a fast-paced one, only too pleased it wasn't a slow and romantic one. That would have been awkward. And Oliver would most likely have cut in. He didn't say a word as he twirled her around the dancefloor and Hermione didn't either, though her smile sat a little less fake upon her lips as a result._

 _"_ _Find me by the punch table later," he murmured in her ear just before the song ended as he pulled her in close to his body, pressing her to him as a part of the steps._

 _Hermione silently nodded, smiling even wider before allowing him to press a kiss to the back of her hand and lead her back off the dancefloor. Feeling lighter somehow, Hermione had insisted on being allowed to dance with Harry – stealing him away from Ginny for a few minutes._

 _"_ _You seem happy?" Harry told her, rather clumsy on his feet as they rotated slowly around the dancefloor._

 _"_ _What's not to be happy about?" Hermione replied, giggling when Harry dipped her low in time to the music before flipping her up again._

 _"_ _I'm pleased you and Oliver are seeing each other," Harry said. "He's quite interested in you, Hermione. He asked me earlier if I knew whether or not you were enamoured with him."_

 _"_ _Oliver's lovely," Hermione replied smoothly. It wasn't even a lie. "I don't know if I'm enamoured just yet, but the relationship is young."_

 _"_ _His quidditch intensity doesn't bother you?" Harry chuckled at her diplomatic answer._

 _Malfoy popped into her head as she replied. "I adore intensity in men, Harry Potter."_

 _She'd left him to ponder that announcement before once more making for the drinks table. The evening was getting on now and most of the guests were beginning to pair off or head home. Hermione was almost to the table where her next drink awaited her before someone caught her hand. Turning to them with a smile, expecting Malfoy, Hermione blinked in surprise to find Ron Weasley holding her hand._

 _"_ _Where do you think you're going, love?" he asked, a wide smile on his handsome face._

 _"_ _More drinks," Hermione said brightly._

 _"_ _But I want you to dance with me," he protested, tugging on her arm and pulling her back towards him. Hermione's heart began to gallop inside her chest. She'd avoided dancing with him the entire night. She didn't trust herself not to ruin the evening by doing something barmy like trying to snog him. The amount of punch she'd had was certainly suggesting it would be a lovely idea._

 _"_ _What about your wife?" Hermione protested, her hand wriggling slightly in his grip._

 _"_ _Camilla's got my dances for the rest of my life," Ron said. His smile widened at the notion. "Right now I want to dance with my best friend."_

 _Hermione, weak-willed as she was whilst inebriated and suffering a still barely mended heart, let him tug her out onto the dancefloor just in time for a slow song to begin playing. When Ron tucked her curls beneath his chin and pulled her closer, his arm resting on the middle of her back while he held her other hand, Hermione sighed into his chest. The familiar scent of him – freshly mown grass and spearmint toothpaste – was accompanied by hints of Camilla's perfume and the scent of the punch._

 _The song was slow and romantic and Hermione closed her eyes, listening to his heartbeat inside his chest and soaking in the moment. With her eyes closed she could pretend this was instead their wedding day and that they were sharing their first dance as husband and wife._

 _"_ _I've missed you," Ron whispered in her ear._

 _"_ _I've missed you too, Ron," Hermione replied softly, trying to fight the lump that formed in my throat. "With you and Harry both married off, I'll be all on my lonesome in the big bad world."_

 _"_ _You'll always have us, Hermione," Ron vowed in her ear. "You'll always be my girl."_

 _Hermione blinked rapidly against the tears as he pressed her more firmly to him in a cuddle, still revolving slowly on the spot._

 _"_ _Your girl maybe," she whispered. "But you'll never be my man."_

 _Her voice broke around the whisper and Hermione lifted her tearstained face to peer into Ron's wonderful blue eyes. He looked stricken by her words, his brow furrowing with concern before Hermione reached up and planted a chaste kiss on his cheek._

 _"_ _If happy is her," she whispered, "then I'm happy for you."_

 _Hermione tore herself free of Ron's arms and left him on the dancefloor, swaying only slightly as she resumed her route to the drinks table. She reached it without looking back at Ron once, even when he softly called her name. She skolled a glass of punch and was going for another when someone's familiar cold hand closed around hers from the space behind the curtains. Lifting her tear-filled eyes to search for the owner of that hand, Hermione caught sight of Draco Malfoy in the shadows and she went willingly when he tugged on her hand._

 _Slipping through the curtain, Hermione peered up into his pointed face._

 _"_ _Shoes," he said. "Give them to me."_

 _Hermione frowned in confusion before doing as he told her, holding his hand tightly to keep her precarious balance as she slipped first one heel, then the other, off her feet. Clutching them both she handed them to him, watching him loop one long finger through the straps. He smirked at her._

 _"_ _Run now," he commanded softly before doing just that, tugging on her hand and dragging her with him as he dashed away into the darkness. Hermione didn't know if she was giggling or crying as they ran until the sound of the party was distant and they were hidden by a gazebo in the garden of Camilla's family property._

 _"_ _You're a bad influence," Hermione accused, laughing even as her tears over Ron continued to stream down her face._

 _"_ _Shut up and snog me, Granger," he said. Using the tips of his fingers he tilted her chin up and claimed her lips with his own, his tongue slipping into her mouth as he delivered a hot kiss to her. Hermione's toes curled at the feel of his mouth on hers, his hands coming up to fondle her breasts through her dress. He'd dropped her shoes on the grass._

 _The fire he lit inside her belly simmered through her blood and Hermione moaned into his mouth, clutching at the back of his robes and silently begging him to make her forget all about her love for Ron. Her hands came up to tangle in his hair, smoothing through the silky strands needily as she kissed him back passionately, pouring every ounce of emotion she felt into the kiss and letting it sweep them away._

 _When they came up for air, Hermione was breathing hard and slightly light-headed. The booze had well and truly kicked in._

 _"_ _Some wedding, eh?" Malfoy huffed into her neck as he fought for breath._

 _Wedding. The word went through her like ice._

 _"_ _Oh god," Hermione moaned. "Wedding. Married. Ron is married. Harry is married. And I'm alone… even you're getting married."_

 _More tears trickled from her eyes at the very thought. She was alone. She was the last one in their group to be wedded, and more importantly, she had no prospects for marriage on her horizon. Oliver was nice, and he was certainly passionate about Quidditch. He was even a fair go in the sack. But he wasn't for her. His incessant Quidditch prattle bored her to tears most of the time and though he was charming, his true love in life was Quidditch, not her._

 _"_ _Don't say it like that, witch. You know very well that I don't want to marry that fucking harlot," Malfoy snapped in response. "I'd rather marry you than that bitch."_

 _Hermione head spun at the thought._

 _"_ _But… I'm a mudblood," Hermione replied thickly, her drunken mind trying to make sense of that statement._

 _Malfoy pulled back from her slowly, peering down at her intently. He lifted her forearm up, tilting it to catch the moonlight to illuminate the word 'mudblood' where it was scarred into her forearm. Hermione's eyes widened in surprise when he lifted the scarred skin to his lips and kissed her there._

 _"_ _You're my mudblood," he said quietly. Hermione felt her heart skip several beats, stuttering out an uneven tune._

 _"_ _Yours?" she asked, still trying to make sense of what he was saying._

 _"_ _Fuck," he cursed suddenly. He pulled a flask from his pocket and drinking deeply from it before offering it to her. "This is fucked up. I'd rather marry you than that pureblood little bitch."_

 _"_ _You want to marry me?" Hermione asked slowly. Her drunken mind was foggy thanks to the fire-whiskey inside his flask. Malfoy skolled more of the liquid without grimacing at the burn._

 _"_ _Yeah, I do. I'd rather you than her," Malfoy said, eyeing her now, "You want to marry me?"_

 _Hermione blinked at him again, her mind spinning._

 _"_ _I don't want to be alone," she admitted, unsure if she wanted to marry him but knowing she enjoyed shagging him. The copious amounts of alcohol in her system ignored things like the fact that they barely knew each other outside of the occasional, emotionally charged shag._

 _"_ _If I marry you, I won't have to marry her. I can't marry her," he was muttering to himself. "And it's not like we haven't already shagged… Let's do it, Granger. Marry me?"_

 _Hermione nodded slowly._

 _"_ _Alright," she whispered. "Now?"_

 _"_ _Now. Wait here, I'll snag that officiate. Got to make it proper and official or I'll have to marry Astoria just the same," he slurred before leaning into her and snogging her blind again._

 _Hermione leaned against the wall of the gazebo when he deserted her to find the Ministry Official. She was much too buzzy and getting tired now that she was alone in the dark and the silence. It had been a long and trying day and Hermione felt she could easily have gone to sleep._

 _"_ _Oi, Granger? Where are you?" Malfoy called sometime later, catching her attention._

 _"_ _Over here," she called back. She lit her wand-tip to show him where. He came closer, dragging the Ministry Official with him._

 _"_ _Right then, you," Malfoy pointed at the wizard. "We want you to marry us."_

 _"_ _You…" the wizard said, looking startled._

 _"_ _You can, can't you?" Hermione asked. "You're an officiate."_

 _"_ _Of course I can… but are you sure this is what you want?" the man stammered._

 _"_ _Damn right, it's what we want. Do you have a marriage contract with you in that briefcase of yours? A pureblood contract?" Malfoy asked, grabbing the man's briefcase and hefting it._

 _"_ _I… yes, I do… Give me a minute and I'll get the paperwork sorted," the wizard sighed. It was clear to Hermione that he thought this was a bad idea, but he went along with their wishes nonetheless. Hermione suspected the man had been drinking as heavily as they had._

 _While they waited Draco snogged her again, one hand curling around her jaw and tipping her head up to snog her full on the mouth. That seemed to convince the wizard even more._

 _"_ _Right then, names?" the man slurred._

 _"_ _Draco Lucius Malfoy," Draco replied._

 _"_ _Hermione Jean Granger," Hermione threw out, watching the wizard magically input the names into a long wedding contract. Hermione noticed idly that the one he was using was much longer than the one Ron and Camilla had signed. It dangled all the way to the ground._

 _"_ _Do you both enter into this marriage knowingly, willingly and of your own volition?" the wizard slurred when the names were input._

 _"_ _I do," Draco nodded._

 _"_ _Miss Granger?"_

 _"_ _I do, too," Hermione nodded her head, feeling like it weighed a ton and yet was full of hot air at the same time._

 _"_ _Do you, Hermione, take Draco in sickness and in health, for better or worse, for richer or poorer, as your lawfully wedded and magically bound husband, till death do you part?" the wizard asked, clearly not fussed on the setting._

 _"_ _I do," Hermione repeated._

 _"_ _Do you, Draco, take Hermione in sickness and in health, for better or worse, for richer or poorer, as your lawfully wedded and magically bound wife, till death do you part?" the man repeated to Draco._

 _"_ _I do," Draco vowed strongly, smirking at Hermione and winking at her, his hands wrapped around hers._

 _"_ _Very well, do you have rings to exchange?"_

 _"_ _Don't be daft, man," Draco rolled his eyes. "This is a traditional pureblood bondage."_

 _"_ _Oh no…." the wizard sighed, looking equally concerned now._

 _"_ _Why does he look worried?" Hermione asked. She peered up at Draco worriedly._

 _"_ _Traditional pureblood bonds of marriage – before rings and jewellery got big – used to entail each party of the wedded couple having to mark the other. A magical tattoo that signifies ownership. They never come off, love. Not like rings these days. Too easy to lose and too easy to expunge from the record. You and me, we're doing this the old-school way. I won't have my Father wheedling in here and trying to find loopholes to make me marry Greengrass."_

 _Hermione nibbled her lip._

 _"_ _Okay," she said, smiling. "I've always wanted a tattoo."_

 _"_ _Oh Merlin, we shouldn't be doing this," the ministry official muttered._

 _"_ _Do you know how to perform the ceremony or not?" Draco asked the wizards fiercely._

 _"_ _Yes, I do. I know how. Fine. Fine. You know what? If you two want to throw your lives together like this, who am I to stop you? Miss Hermione take out your wand and repeat after me. 'Hoc symbolum iras pectus. Donec mors nobis facinut, pars."_

 _Hermione cleared her throat and aimed her wand at Draco before she repeated the musical Latin words of the incantation._

 _"_ _Oh, bloody hell," Malfoy groaned as though he were suffering sweet torture._

 _"_ _Mr Malfoy, when you are composed, if you could repeat the process?" the official slurred briskly._

 _"_ _Right. What were the words again?" Draco asked when he opened his silvery eyes._

 _The wizard repeated the incantation. His own wand performing some other magic that seemed to be a binding spell of some kind._

 _Draco parroted the words, his wand trained on Hermione and she closed her eyes as a brush of sweet bliss slipped beneath her skin. She couldn't describe the feeling. Like pleasure and pain all rolled into one she felt the magic glide across her senses and delve beneath her flesh, settling around her heart like a steel band of comfort._

 _"_ _Excellent!" The wizard clapped his hands. "Now, if you could both sign here."_

 _He pointed to the bottom of the marriage contract and handed them a special gold quill. Malfoy took it first, leaning against the wall of the gazebo to balance properly before he scrawled his signature in large loopy letters along the line where he was supposed to. He was outright grinning as he handed Hermione the quill and shuffled aside slightly to let her sign her name._

 _"_ _Hermione, keep in mind that you will be required to sign as Hermione Malfoy, as that is now your binding legal and magical name," the wizarding official told her._

 _"_ _Oh… erm… well it's going to be a messy first try then," she muttered before studying Malfoy's signature and the way he'd scrawled the surname. She nibbled her lip before slowly beginning to sign her name. She signed it in full, spelling out the full letters of the name 'Hermione' before pausing briefly to keep from scrawling Granger. Instead she looped the quill up into the shape of a capital M before curling it through the rest of the word 'Malfoy'. She looped the Y on the end before blotting the parchment with a full-stop at the end of her new name._

 _"_ _Wonderful, now then, just one moment while I ensure the proper magic is in place to protect the bond should someone attempt to tear up the contract or override it with another bond," the official told her, performing a complicated bit of magic. "Alright, all done. Draco Malfoy, you may kiss your bride."_

 _Hermione giggled like a school girl as he scooped her into his arms and snogged her hard on the mouth until she was dizzy._

 _"_ _If that will be all, I think I will be retiring for the evening. Mrs Malfoy, this is your copy to keep. Put it somewhere safe," the official told them, pressing the scroll of parchment into her hand._

 _"_ _Thank you!" Hermione shouted after him._

 _"_ _Oi, wait a minute," Malfoy said suddenly. He pulled back from her. "We can't trust him not to blab about this."_

 _Hermione watched in fascination as Draco tore off after the wizard and performed a sloppy memory charm on the man before shuffling him back toward the party. He strolled back to her with all the grace of a big cat and Hermione eyed him hungrily, her tears and heartache over Ron temporarily forgotten thanks to his kisses._

 _"_ _Told you that you were_ my _mudblood," Malfoy smirked widely at her when he reached her._

 _"_ _Indeed, I am," she nodded in agreement, giggling. "Everyone will be furious when they find out about this. You realise that, don't you?"_

 _"_ _If it keeps me from marrying that cold, heartless bitch then I don't even care," Malfoy grinned at her in return. "Now come along, Mrs Malfoy, I believe it's time we consummate this marriage. Make it official, you know?"_

 _"_ _Oh, as if we haven't before?" Hermione rolled her eyes at him, swatting at his hands before letting him pull her to him, kissing her soundly even as he disapparated them to Malfoy Manor._

 _"_ _You realise that anyone could wander into your room and catch us, don't you?" Hermione asked when she realised where they were._

 _"_ _That's half the fun, Granger," Draco rolled his eyes at her, stripping her out of her pale pink bridesmaid dress with practiced ease. Hermione laughed but aimed her wand at the door to lock it. She tossed their marriage contract on the bedside table before setting her hungry gaze on Malfoy._

 _"_ _You look predatory when you smirk at me like that," Draco informed her with a smirk of his own as Hermione tore his shirt open, revealing his toned pale chest beneath. She smoothed her hands over the warm flesh, enjoying the feel of his flawless skin beneath her hands. As she dragged the shirt from his shoulders while she kissed his neck, Hermione's eyes locked onto the glitter of something silver against his skin._

 _"_ _Oh my goodness," she gasped, jerking back from him slightly at the sight of a dragon's head tattoo over his left shoulder._

 _"_ _What is it?" he asked, trying to pull her back in to resume the kisses he was peppering along her throat._

 _"_ _The mark," she whispered. Her fingers trailed over the head of the dragon, then lower, to the book clutched in its talons and pressed to his heart. "The claiming symbol of the bond between us… it's huge… and silver. It's a silver dragon."_

 _"_ _Where?" he asked, glancing down at his chest and catching sight of the dragon head against his pectoral muscle and the claws over his right shoulder and the other over his heart._

 _"_ _Shit… what's this bit?" he pulled back further from her to unbuckle his belt and lower his trousers and silk boxers to reveal the pointed tail of the dragon._

 _"_ _That's the tail," Hermione murmured, tracing it with her fingers and becoming temporarily distracted by the appendage it led to. "Turn around for a second."_

 _He blinked at her slowly before doing as she asked._

 _"_ _Oh my gosh, Malfoy! It takes up your whole back…. you have wings." Hermione trailed her hands over the beautiful silver image on his skin, tracing the wings as they spread down the backs of his arms to the elbow._

 _"_ _Wings?" he asked._

 _"_ _To here," Hermione nodded, brushing both elbows. "It looks like it's perched on your back, protecting your heart and clinging to you. The back feet are here."_

 _Hermione skimmed her thumbs over the slight curve in his back where it dimpled before reaching his hips and his arse._

 _"_ _And the tail curls like this," she traced it over his left hip and around over his abs to the V of muscle that led to his cock. Malfoy chuckled huskily when she wrapped her hand around the appendage hungrily._

 _"_ _That's your favourite part of me, isn't it?" he smirked at her over his shoulder before Hermione ducked under his arm, tracing the length of the dragon's tail with her tongue._

 _"_ _It is," she agreed as she tongued the V of muscle at the base of his abs._

 _"_ _Oh shit," Malfoy groaned when Hermione followed the hot caress by engulfing the length of his cock in her warm mouth and sucking on it hungrily. Hermione purred at the expletives dropping from his lips as she sucked him off. She hollowed her cheeks, sucking hard as she withdrew, before relaxing her throat as she bobbed her head down until his crisp curls tickled her nose._

 _"_ _Fuck, Granger," he moaned. He tipped his head back and tangled his hands in her rapidly escaping curls. Hermione barely noticed the bite of the carpet against her knees where she knelt before him._

 _"_ _It's Malfoy, now," she paused to correct him, feeling a sick thrill rush through her to say so._

 _"_ _Right," he purred, voice thick as she sucked him into her mouth again. "Malfoy. My wife. Fuck, you're good at that."_

 _Hermione smiled around the throbbing cock inside her mouth, working her hand over the smooth steel length of him in unison with her mouth._

 _"_ _Urgh, stop," he growled throatily, catching her and prying her off him. "Stop or I'm going to come right down your throat. I want to see the mark on you."_

 _Hermione blinked before recalling she would also have a tattoo somewhere on her person. Malfoy lifted her back to her feet easily, peeling her bra and knickers from her body._

 _"_ _Where?" she asked, spinning and trying to find the tattoo on her person that signified she belonged to the blonde wizard. Hermione shivered when he caught her by the hips, stilling her mad flailing._

 _"_ _Here," he murmured, tracing his fingers over her ribcage and around her bare left breast. "You've got a dragon too."_

 _Hermione twisted, lifting her left boob out of the way to view the much smaller dragon._

 _"_ _It's much smaller than yours," Hermione noted._

 _"_ _Still protecting your heart," Malfoy smirked at her. "You realise this means I own you, right Granger?"_

 _"_ _What?" Hermione asked, startled._

 _Draco nodded. "I own you. These are traditional claiming tattoos. They're the equivalent of a slave brand. The magic was implemented during a time when wives were a man's possession."_

 _"_ _Then why is your tattoo bigger than mine?" Hermione asked. "And yours has this book, while mine doesn't have a book."_

 _"_ _The mark that appears on the skin is a symbol of how we appear to each other in our intentions of being wed. Mine on you is a silver dragon, reflecting my magical signature… Yours on me is different. It's showing that you see me as the silver dragon too, and the book is you. Your mark implies that you think I'll protect you and hold you in my heart forever."_

 _Hermione's eyes widened._

 _"_ _What does yours imply?" she whispered, fingering the silver tattoo on her own skin._

 _"_ _That your heart is mine to protect, too," he smirked._

 _"_ _But… we don't love each other," Hermione pondered, her free hand tracing his tattoo as well._

 _"_ _Now, is that any way to speak to your husband?" Malfoy chided her, smirking wider now. Hermione smiled in spite of herself, her drunken mind easily distracted from such ponderous notions._

 _"_ _Kiss me, idiot," she demanded, stepping into him and curling her hands up over his shoulders and around his neck. Like the dragon on his back, Hermione climbed his front until she could claim his lips and Malfoy carried her over to the bed. Flopping down upon it with her beneath him, he took his sweet time snogging her into a frenzy._

 _Hermione whimpered when he kissed his way down her body, lingering to tongue the tattoo on her ribs and toy with her nipples hungrily before he continued south. When his hot breath ghosted over her spread thighs, Hermione twitched with anticipation. He tortured her for a few tenuous moments before he tongued her dripping slit, humming at the flavour of her and having to pin her thighs to the bed when she tried to snap them closed against the torturous sensation._

 _"_ _Oh, God!" she whimpered throatily as he licked at her, tasting, exploring, teasing. He nibbled the bundle of nerves at the top of her sex before dipping his tongue inside her, probing her hungrily and lapping at the sweet nectar he found there._

 _"_ _Malfoy," she whined, thrashing against the torture as he brought her undone with a plunge of his fingers and a flick of his tongue._

 _"_ _Shush, love," he said between nibbles on her flesh. "I'm having fun. Do you want to deprive me of fun?"_

 _Hermione was sure she was crying big fat tears of pure frustration when he finally climbed back up her body, capturing her lips and pressing the taste of herself across her tongue. She didn't even care when he accompanied the foul snog with a slow, deep thrust of her favourite part of him all the way inside of her._

 _"_ _I love that part," Hermione hummed contentedly when he was buried inside her, seated so deep she swore she could feel him nudging at her womb._

 _"_ _Fuck!" Malfoy groaned in response when she clamped her pelvic muscles tight around him._

 _He built to a frenzy, thrusting into her again and again. His lips and teeth tormented her throat, leaving marks on her flesh to further claim her but Hermione was too far gone too care. Her hips rising to meet each deep penetration, she screamed when the release crashed over her suddenly._

 _"_ _Ah, fuck I love that feeling," he growled into her ear, nipping the sensitive lobe before picking up the pace even more and working her into a second orgasm._

 _By the time he was finished, Hermione was face down on the bed, her fists clenched in the sheets with red, Malfoy-sized hand prints on both her arse cheeks and his cock seated deep inside her, pumping her full of him and leaving her content and sleepy. The feel of his body pressing down on hers deliciously was one she could never describe but always missed as soon as he moved. He had one hand tangled in her tussled curls and the other wrapped around her hand on the sheets._

 _"_ _You'll be the death of me, witch," he accused in a sleepy tone._

 _Hermione hummed in response, unable to coherently think of anything to respond to his accusation._

 _"_ _Doesn't even deny it," Draco snorted against her back before dragging himself off of her, fishing his cock from her still fluttering sheath before he scooped her with one arm across the covers and tucked her under the quilt beside him._

 _Hermione sighed contentedly at the feel of his grey silk sheets as he wrapped himself around her body, spooning her tightly and slipping his hand between her legs while the other flung across the bed beneath her neck. She closed her eyes for a few minutes and dozed for some time before her persistent bladder woke her._

 _The dark of the bedroom was broken only by the glow of the moon through the windows as Hermione slipped from Malfoy's possessive hold and escaped the bed. She stumbled her way into his loo and dealt with her bladder before searching with her wand for the clock she could hear ticking. Her eyes bugged out when she caught sight of the time. It was almost four AM. Where had the time gone?_

 _And what was that on Malfoy's back?_

 _Hermione felt dread pour through her as she took in the bright silver tattoo when a stray moonbeam filtered over his pale skin and she recalled all it meant. Married. They'd gotten married. The tattoo was the claiming mark she'd magicked onto his skin, claiming him as her husband._

 _Panic took over then and Hermione did the only thing she could think of. Malfoy was too drunk, he wouldn't remember any of this when he woke. Hell, she probably wouldn't either because she knew she was still off her chops. Hurrying about the room, Hermione scooped up all their discarded clothing, carrying Malfoy's things to his laundry hamper and dressing herself in her own._

 _Snagging up the marriage contract on the bedside table, Hermione tucked it through the strap of her dress. He could never know they been married last night. He'd kill her. Merlin, she might off herself. He was betrothed to another woman. A pure-blood one. For the sake of some business venture and the political connections it would by both families. She knew he'd be in deep trouble if he didn't go through with that. Especially when he'd tried to wheedle his way out of it by marrying a lowly mudblood._

 _Hermione scowled when she realised that whether he knew or not, he was going to wake up to that enormous tattoo and she cursed her own over-achieving magic for the size of the thing. Hastily thinking, Hermione crossed to his desk and found some scraps of parchment. She scrawled out a note directing him to the mirror and put it on the pillow by his peacefully sleeping face. The other she taped to the mirror, complimenting him on the tattoo. Because for all that she was horrified by what it signified, it was very beautiful._

 _It suited him, even. A big silver dragon perched on his back and ready to kill anyone who tried to take his heart. Hermione smiled at the thought and at the sight of the little book clutched in the dragon's talons that was supposed to represent her being pressed against his heart. If she was honest, Hermione didn't want his heart. She didn't want to be his wife, either._

 _She'd only wanted to fuck him until it would be no longer appropriate or until he stopped curing her of her anguish with a good spanking and a brutal fuck. Too bad she rarely got what she wanted._

 _Pressing a kiss to his sharp cheek before she could think better of it, Hermione hurried over to the fireplace in his suite, grateful as ever that every fireplace in Malfoy Manor was connected to the Floo network. She knew it was probably to be able to better hide things should they be ambushed or raided by the Ministry, but she was grateful nonetheless._

 _When she landed back in her flat, Hermione made herself a cup of tea and pottered about the house, leaving herself notes. She hid the marriage contract in the bottom of her desk, inside a locked box that contained the address of her parents in Australia and the ingredient list for the Memory Potion she'd been working on. Drawing out a phial of it, she sat it along with a hangover cure and a contraceptive potion on her bathroom bench and left herself even more notes about that too. And when she was done, Hermione stripped back out of her dress, crawled into bed and slept._

 _~O~O~O~O~END FLASHBACK~O~O~O~O~_

Hermione groaned in the bottom of her shower her head in her hands. She couldn't believe what she'd done. She was such an idiot. A single thought stayed with her as she dragged herself from under the water and sent an owl to the Ministry letting them know she wouldn't be in to the office today.

And that thought was that her drunken self at four AM that morning had made a very good point. Draco Malfoy was never to learn of the fact that they were, technically, legally married.


	5. Chapter 4

**A/N: Thanks for all you love and support! Much love! xx-Kitten.**

* * *

 **The Silver Dragon**

 _By Kittenshift17_

* * *

 **CHAPTER FOUR**

* * *

She wasn't in the office. She hadn't come in. That's what he'd gathered from the fact that a very hungover Potter had marched into the office two hours late looking dead on his feet and demanded to know if anyone had seen Hermione Granger since the wedding.

"What's the problem, Potter?" Draco asked, frowning over the man's obvious bad mood. Potter was technically his boss given that Draco worked for a sector of the Magical Law Enforcement office that dealt with the trafficking of illegal goods and magical creatures.

"Hermione's not in today," Potter rubbed his forehead as though it were pounding. "She said something to Ron last night that seemed off and she was crying before she disappeared at the wedding and no one has seen her since. She sent an owl this morning, apparently, claiming to be too ill to come to work."

"She's probably at home," Draco rolled his eyes. "Did you see how much punch she had? She was off her chops. She's probably just at home sleeping off the worst hangover of her life."

"Malfoy, she's Hermione Granger," Potter rolled his eyes in return. "She makes the best hangover cure in the world and she's never once missed a day of work. Ever. No hangover would keep her from her job. I'm worried she's done something foolish, upset over the wedding or something."

"She was upset over the wedding?" Draco feigned ignorance of the witch's distaste for the bride and sour grapes over the groom.

"Well, I didn't think so," Potter muttered. "But based on what she apparently said to Ron when they danced, it seems like maybe she was a bit hurt over the fact that Ron was marrying anyone who wasn't her."

"They've been broken up for years, Potter," Draco pointed out, needing to throw him off the scent. Granger worked too bloody hard to put up a happy and composed front when it came to Weaselbee. And while he might not much care for her, she kept his secrets so he felt duty bound to protect hers, too.

"Maybe so, but sometimes she puts up a front to hide her emotions. Anyway I tried to stop in on her last night to make sure she was alright when Oliver told me he couldn't find her. She wasn't at her flat and I haven't had a chance to drop in on her this morning – thinking she would be at work," Potter told him seriously still rubbing his forehead.

"You lot meddle in each other's lives too much," Draco informed him, crossing his arms over his chest and frowning slightly.

Potter was right, Granger never missed work. Especially not after shagging him. That would draw the attention of her friends and neither of them wanted that.

"She's my best bloody friend, Malfoy," Potter rounded on him angrily, giving away how hungover and how worried he really was.

"OI! POTTER!" Seamus Finnigan shouted from.

"What?" Potter snapped, his head jerking up.

"We got trouble! Someone set off some kind of dark object in Diagon Alley! It's mayhem! We need you!" Finnigan shouted as the whole department leapt into action.

"Fuck!" Potter cursed uncharacteristically. "EVERY AUROR TO DIAGON ALLEY IMMEDIATELY!"

"Potter," Draco snagged the man's elbow to get his attention before he could charge off.

"I don't need you there Malfoy, not unless the case is creature related or involves illegal products. You know that," Potter told him.

"Do you want me to check on Granger at her flat?" Draco asked, planning to do so either way but hoping for an order as an excuse.

"You…" Potter stopped and stared at him. "You don't even like Hermione…. Why would you check on her?"

"Well, it's not like you're going to get a chance and Weasley is on his honeymoon," Draco shrugged defensively. "I figured, given that you're bitching about it and it's out of character for her, it might be prudent to look into. Especially if someone set off a bomb in Diagon Alley."

"You're accusing Hermione of terrorist activity?" Potter growled, getting in his face.

"You were the one who said she was acting out of character. Forget I asked. I'm sure she's completely fine, hungover at home. Why else would she say strange things and owl in sick?" Draco backpedalled, playing Potter for a fool by making it seem like he didn't care about his best friend.

"Fuck!" Potter exclaimed again, rubbing his forehead once more. "Ok, yeah, you're right, check on her, Malfoy, that's an order. And be nice to her. I won't have her taking my head off for sending you in there as an arrogant, abrasive arsehole if she's actually sick."

Draco nodded, smirking to himself as Potter dashed over to the nearest Apparation point and left for Diagon Alley. Draco, on the other hand strolled over to the Floo network and climbed inside, calling out to send himself to Hermione Granger's place of residence. He stepped out of the fireplace into a cream-walled lounge room furnished with a cosy looking burgundy couch, a warm yellow floor-rug and a book collection so extensive that it was a wonder any of the wall was left free for him to note the colour.

For all the nights he'd shagged the witch – thirteen, if he wasn't mistaken – he'd never been to her flat. She never invited him back there.

"Hello?" Granger called out, obviously hearing the fireplace roar.

Draco strolled into the next room when he heard the sound of her rummaging about as though trying to hide something.

"ARGH!" she screamed at the sight of him, almost colliding with him as she made to block his entrance to what looked like her office.

"Malfoy, what the devil are you doing in my flat?" she demanded. She gripped his biceps to keep from falling to the floor in her surprise.

"Potter sent me," Draco told her, smirking into her surprised face. "What are you hiding?"

"Hiding? Harry? What?" she stammered out, appearing very confused.

Draco eyed her with some amusement as she tried to get her wits back. She was dressed in what appeared to be a man's jumper with tights. It was much too big on her petite frame, falling in a shapeless swath of fabric to her knees. It was ratty and clearly old. Some kind of sporting jersey, if he had to guess. The lettering on it of the team name was peeled so much that it wasn't legible and there was a number on the front. Number eighty-four. It was blue and white in colour and there were several holes in the fabric, indicating it had seen better days. Draco suspected it must've belonged to her father a long time ago.

"Yes. Hiding," Draco smirked at her. "I heard hastiness, as though you weren't expecting company and needed to hide something."

"I don't know what you're talking about Malfoy. What are you doing here? What do you mean Harry sent you? Harry would never send you."

"Well, take it up with him because he did seeing as how he's too busy carting the entire Auror division to Diagon Alley to investigate a bomb being set off there this morning," Draco said. He pushed past her to investigate her office for any signs of what she was hiding.

"WHAT?" she screeched, snagging his arm and spinning him back to face her.

"Don't make that sound, Granger," Draco reprimanded lightly. "It's unattractive. Someone bombed Diagon Alley. Or at least that's what Finnigan was shouting in the office this morning. Potter sent me to check on you and make sure you're not the terrorist. He's put out, you see? You clearly said something suspicious to Weaselbee last night and then you didn't come to work this morning, despite shagging me last night. Out of character, Granger. Fishy."

Draco pulled his elbow from her grip and rounded her desk.

"Malfoy, stay out of my things. You're saying that Harry thinks I'm a terrorist because I told Ron I was happy for him and because I owled in sick? I wanted the day off because I feel like crap. Hey, I said stay out of my things," she snapped, batting at his hands and squeezing herself between him and her desk when he tried to open one of the drawers.

Draco narrowed his eyes suspiciously, wondering what she was hiding.

"You were gone when I got up," he accused.

"That's why you're really here, isn't it?" she asked knowingly. She planted her feet, refusing to budge when he tried to open the desk drawers again.

"Since when do you leave before showering?" he wanted to know, narrowing his eyes at her further. "And what the fuck happened last night? I woke up with a giant tattoo!"

"I leave before showering when I feel positively wretched," she replied, crossing her arms over her chest and glaring up into his face from less than a foot away. Draco smirked at the way her eyes darted over his face as though she was uncomfortable being so close to him.

"So you just left? You leave me a note telling me to look in the mirror and another telling me you think my new tattoo is pretty and nothing else?" he demanded.

"What do you want from me here Malfoy?" she asked. "It's not like you and I are friends. I could hardly leave you a signed note to be found by your nosy parents or your fiancé."

"Witch, I woke up with a new tattoo!" Draco snarled at her, his patience waning quickly. "You can't just fucking leave without a morning shower and without explaining how the fuck I have a giant tattoo!"

"Did you want me to stay and be sick on you?" she frowned at him. "It's not like I know much about your tattoo. I barely recall what it looks like. All I know is I woke up in bed with you this morning, around four AM and I felt like death – and not the hungover kind. Your tattoo was on display and it looked pretty. I left. That's it."

"So you have no idea how I got it?" Draco demanded, furious now.

"You weren't the only one sloshed, Malfoy," she rolled her eyes. "I don't remember a damn thing from last night past standing at the ceremony while they took their vows."

"You didn't freak out when you saw my tattoo this morning?" he wanted to know, not trusting that shifty look in her eyes.

"Before last night I hadn't shagged you in three months, Malfoy, I assumed it was something you got between then and now," she shrugged.

"Then why leave me a note telling me to look in the mirror?" he asked, catching her in the lie. "If you thought it wasn't new you wouldn't have drawn my attention to it. You're lying to me, Granger."

"What the hell do you want from me Malfoy?" she hissed. "You have a new tattoo and that's all I bloody know. That and I'm sick. You shouldn't be here. Harry's orders or not, people will ask questions if they find out you were in my flat. You have a fiancé, remember?"

"My father heard us last night," Draco retorted, suddenly recalling his pressing need to tell her they needed to stay away from each other.

"WHAT?" she screeched again, her face draining of colour.

"Blimey, woman! What did I say about making that noise?" he demanded, wincing as the sound assaulted his ear drums. "I took you to the Manor after the wedding last night to fuck you, apparently. He heard you screaming. He barged into my room this morning while I was showering, demanding to know whom I was shagging."

"Fuck!" she cursed foully, stamping her foot like a petulant child. "I knew this would happen. Fuck! You need to leave, Malfoy. You need to leave, now. This was a messy, ridiculous idea to begin with. You're betrothed. Your family hates me. Just leave before you get caught here and your father sniffs around to discover that we've been shagging! Bloody hell, why did I ever let this happen?"

She covered her face with her hands and took a deep breath as though trying to get a hold of herself. He could hear her muttering more insults under her breath, though whether they were directed at him or at herself, Draco couldn't quite tell. Eyeing her as she stood there, looking a right mess and cursing a blue streak, Draco felt a strange tingle run through him. Before he could stop himself, he found his arms snaking around her waist and tugging her towards him until she leaned against his chest, her head tucked under his chin.

He closed his eyes slowly, realising he really had missed showering with the witch that morning.

"You're supposed to be leaving," she reminded him though she didn't push him away.

"In a minute," he replied, eyes still closed. He kind of hated the way he enjoyed the feel of her against him this way. She fit against him very well, if he was honest. Better that Astoria ever would.

"Why didn't you come to work, Granger?" he asked in a low voice as he held her. "You never miss a day because your friends are nosy sods. They're going to drill you about skipping today."

"I told you, I'm sick," she said, stiffening in his hold.

"Liar," Draco breathed into her hair, drawing her lilac and honeysuckle scent into himself.

"I'm not a liar," she hissed.

"Yes, you are. You're not sick. You're panicking about something. That's why you won't let me see what's in those drawers and why you skipped work. You _never_ skip work, Granger," Draco told her. "And you usually don't skip a shower if you can avoid it…. Do I want to know?"

"You really don't," she whispered in response and Draco felt his blood run cold.

"Please tell me you're not pregnant?" he murmured softly, an icy hand clenching around his heart tightly.

"I'm not pregnant," she said, laughing a little. "But you and I can't shag anymore, Malfoy. Not with your father sniffing around. You're getting married to Astoria soon, anyway. It's not right that you fuck around on her anymore."

"Does this have something to do with my tattoo?" he wanted to know.

"No," she answered. "But you know we're both ruined if we're caught. And besides, you're getting attached."

"Me?" Draco scoffed. "Attached?"

"You barged into my flat – after being threatened by your father that he would find out which witch you're shagging since it's not your betrothed – and demanded to know why I left before showering with you this morning. You're getting attached, idiot," she said. Draco marvelled at her ability to make the insult sound like a term of endearment.

"Potter sent me," he argued.

"Even if that's true, he only sent you to find out if I was alive and not a terrorist. Which you've done. Yet you're still here. Hugging me," she pointed out.

Draco supposed she was right. And it had to stop. He couldn't be getting attached. He couldn't have her getting attached, either. He was marrying another woman in a few months – one he loathed, true – and he'd been a faithless bastard thus far. Honestly, that wasn't enough to deter him from the wild-haired witch in his embrace. But his father was. If his father got wind of them fucking, he'd have Granger's head and he'd take it out of Draco's hide. He'd make sure it was a very public fall from grace for Granger, too – sabotaging her career and demeaning the little muggleborn.

He was rather loathe to admit that he cared a bit too much for her to let that happen.

Releasing his grip on her, Draco stepped away. He rounded her desk without looking at her. The prospect of never shagging her again was strangely uncomfortable to him. Sure, every time they'd shagged in the past he'd vowed they never could again, but by now he'd begun saying it only out of habit rather than any real intention to refrain. The idea that last night really might have been the last time and that he didn't remember much of it bothered him.

She followed as he exited the room and made his way back to her fireplace. Draco turned to stare at her for a long moment in silence, his internal battle raging over whether to say to hell with it all and continue fucking her or if he would walk away and never look twice at her again. She gave him a strange little smile as she moved closer, going up on her toes and pulling his lips down to hers.

Draco wrapped his arm around her waist, securing her to him while he tangled his free hand into her outrageously messy hair. He groaned into her mouth at the feel of her lips on his, her tongue sweeping into his mouth to tangle with his. Merlin, he'd never snogged her sober before. Had she always been this good at it? He'd known, of course, that she was good, but not this fucking good. He felt like she'd fed him lust potion for the effect her snog had on his cock.

Several lust-charged minutes later she pulled back from him, her chocolate eyes opening to peer at him. He could see they were dilated with need, her breath ragged from his kiss. Draco felt like he might have to forget his father, his fiancé and his reputation if it meant he could fuck her even just once more. Salazar's rod, he wanted to fuck her right there on her floor mat until she had rug burn.

She trailed the tips of her fingers along the length of his jaw, releasing him slowly. Draco nearly gave in to temptation when she licked her lips.

"Never again," she vowed, holding his gaze.

"Never again," he agreed, knowing this time he was meant to mean it. Hearing that, this time, she meant it. She wouldn't shag him again. She was serious about the two of them parting ways for good. Draco felt like an overwrought, emotional female when he realised they were effectively breaking up and hadn't even been a couple. Especially when he realised he was upset about it.

Twisting away from her before he could do anything foolish, Draco snagged a pinch of her Floo powder and climbed into her fireplace. She was giving him that strange little smile again when he called out his destination and dropped the powder. Draco couldn't return the look with his signature smirk or any but his best blank expression before he twisted dizzily away through the Floo network.


	6. Chapter 5

**A/N: Thanks for taking the time to read and review! I love seeing your reactions to everything. Much love! XX-Kitten.**

* * *

 **The Silver Dragon**

 _By Kittenshift17_

* * *

 **CHAPTER FIVE**

* * *

Hermione dragged herself into work the following week feeling like she actually might be ill for real despite the lie she'd told last week. She'd been feeling wretched all week but had soldiered on. Now, she was regretting not actually taking more days off. She'd spent every spare minute in her office pouring over the fine print of her marriage contract to Malfoy, discovering a number of horrifying facts. The most prominent of which was that he'd been right. According to the contract, he technically owned her in the same manner one might own a dog or a house elf.

He couldn't order her about and have her follow those orders the way an elf did, but he could certainly involve the law if she directly disobeyed him and he wanted to make a scene about it. The contract stated that while he technically owned her like a possession, she had full rights to everything else he owned as well, including property, fortune and possessions. Not that she had a stake in them, but that she could access them if she wished without prior authorisation. That included access to his house no matter how warded it might be.

Even if he warded the Manor against everyone, she would be able to apparate or Floo in undetected and unimpeded much the same way an elf could. The favour was returned should she attempt to escape him. Meaning she'd couldn't keep him out of her place. It was for the best, she decided, that Lucius had caught wind of Draco's affair and sought to expose it. Otherwise Draco might accidentally give away their secrets if he Flooed in unannounced when she blocked herself from even her friends. Something she'd been known to do on occasion when she was on the verge of some breakthrough with her research or when she was wallowing in a failure.

Hermione had also made the unfortunate discovery that in the event of them trading magic-tattoos as their symbol of ownership over each other, there were some unforeseeable side-effects. The most prominent of which was that whenever one of them touched their own tattoo it felt like being caressed somewhere on the body of the other. She'd learned that the hard way when she'd gone into work the day after kissing Malfoy goodbye and been called into a staff meeting between all effected departments regarding the bombing that had taken place in Diagon Alley.

No one had been killed, but _Eeylops Owl Emporium_ had been targeted and the Aurors suspected it had to do with a number of rare species of half-Kneazel that the owner had been breeding in the back. Hermione's department – the Regulation of Magical Creatures office - had become involved as the species was a new strain of Kneazel that had been bred with African servals to breed bigger cats. The Auror office suspected it had to do with illegal trafficking and with irresponsible and dangerous breeding of new and unregistered species. Harry also suspected it was centred around former-Death Eater activity that had been taking place in parts of Europe, spilling back into Britain believing that ten years after the war they might be safe once more.

Hermione had been horrified to learn that her department would, for the next few months, be working in close quarters with the Auror Office and the Magical Law Enforcement team. In particular, with the team that dealt with trafficking of illegal substances, products, goods and creatures. Malfoy's team. Hermione knew there must be some sick twist of fate that had landed her accidentally married to the git while he was ignorant of their matrimony and believed their time of shagging each other sporadically as an outlet for emotional upheaval was at an end.

She'd made the discovery during the staff meeting that whenever Malfoy trailed the tips of his fingers over sections of his tattoo absentmindedly, she felt it like a caress, though not always in the same spot on her person to where he was touching. It only worked on his tattoo, and only when he was lightly tracing the design. She'd caught him doing so with the spiky silver dragon tail that ran over his hip and down the V of his abs to disappear into his trousers. Hermione had been mortified to learn that every time he caressed the tail, she felt it like having his hot tongue swiped up her slit.

It was a problem because he seemed to do it all the bloody time and she had no idea how he was getting away with it until she realised he was doing it with his hand in the pocket of his robes. He must have a hole inside the pocket that let him touch his skin. Hermione understood the urge to touch the tattoo. She'd had trouble leaving hers alone. It just felt so alive beneath her fingers that it had been hard not to spend hours tracing the shape, learning it by heart.

"Morning, Hermione," her assistant, Harriet, chirped as Hermione arrived at the office for the morning.

"Hi, Hatty," Hermione tried for a smile at the woman but she suspected it came across as more of a grimace.

"You look beat, boss, if you don't mind my saying…" Hatty said "How about I fix you a mint tea to get you going? Harry sent a memo asking you to meet him in his office this morning."

"Of course he did," Hermione sighed heavily. She felt like she'd been hit by a bus and she had no reason for it at all. She'd not had a drink in more than a week, nor had she had any wild and somewhat kinky sex with one, Draco Malfoy.

"Oliver came by earlier, too, requesting that you meet him for lunch, if you're free?" Hatty went on, following Hermione into her office and waving her wand, making Hermione a cup of tea while she passed on the messages for the morning.

"Of course he did," Hermione grumbled again. She'd been trying to avoid her sort-of boyfriend. After all, she was technically a married woman and she'd been looking fervently into how best to get the marriage annulled quickly and quietly but was, as of yet, unsuccessful in that venture.

"Don't you want to see him?" Hatty paused, looking confused. "I thought you and Oliver were getting along well."

Hermione sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose – not a good sign given that it was only nine in the morning.

"Oliver's lovely, Hatty," Hermione smiled tightly. "If I'm free, I'll meet him for lunch."

"Are you sure you're alright Hermione?" Hatty pried. "You seem rather out of sorts and under the weather this morning?"

"I've not been sleeping well, Hatty," Hermione admitted honestly. It was the truth. For all that he toyed with his tattoo at work, Malfoy was a menace with the thing when he was at home and alone. He seemed to spend hours each evening trailing his fingers over the marks on his skin and driving her spare. Some of them were nice. Three nights ago he'd even hit on one spot that had made it feel like his fingers were caressing her back and she'd drifted off to a lovely night's sleep.

Last night, however, he'd been fiddling with a part that made it feel like he was repeatedly tweaking her nipples and she was thinking seriously about maiming him for it. All he'd managed to achieve was to get her hot and bothered, entirely flustered in bed and no matter how many times she used the sex-toy Ginny had given her as a joke a few years back, Hermione would inevitably be awoken again a half hour later with stiff and aching nipples.

"I also feel rather unwell – I think I'm coming down with the flu," Hermione went on. "I don't mean to snap at you. I'm just tired."

"Alright," Hatty nodded sympathetically. "Well here's your tea, I put it in a carry cup for you so you can go and meet with Harry or he'll come stomping down here again thinking you've been kidnapped."

Hermione smiled ruefully at the comment. She'd been a little bit late for work a few days ago and Harry had flown into a flap, convinced she'd been snatched by Death Eaters looking to maim her to get her to pass legislation on the creatures they'd been breeding. If it weren't for the fact that it was actually a possibility, Hermione would've found it terribly funny.

"I'll go and head him off before he rouses the Auror department unnecessarily," Hermione said. "Thank you for the tea."

"No problem boss," Hatty grinned, returning to her desk as Hermione strode off through the Ministry towards the Magical Law Enforcement office. When she passed through Malfoy's sector she noticed his desk was empty and she vaguely wondered where he was.

"You wanted to see me, _Ash Ketchum_?" Hermione said to Harry as she strolled into his office in her high heels and her pencil skirt.

"Did you just refer to me as a muggle cartoon character?" Harry asked, glancing over at her. Hermione gulped slightly to see that Malfoy, the Minster for Magic – Kingsley Shacklebolt – and several other important Ministry types were already seated in Harry's office and clearly conducting a preliminary meeting as they waited for her.

"I did," Hermione answered, throwing her dignity to the wind. "One determined to "catch 'em all" seemed rather fitting when I picked my title for addressing you this morning."

"I'm sure there's a compliment in there somewhere," Harry smirked, clearly noting her embarrassment.

"There might be," Hermione smiled. "I haven't decided yet. Morning, Kingsley."

"Hermione," Kingsley shot her a wink.

"Mr Urquart," Hermione nodded to the Head of International Affairs next.

"Miss Granger," the man returned her nod.

"Mr Bramwell," Hermione turned her nod of greeting on the Ministry-Muggle Liaison.

"Miss Granger," the man greeted her with a small smile.

"Malfoy," Hermione nodded at him last.

"Granger," he replied, barely hiding the smirk on his lips. "Nice of you to grace us with your presence."

"It was, rather," she agreed amicably as he ribbed her for her tardiness, while she rounded Harry's desk to peck Harry on the cheek in greeting. She'd seen him every day that week and most of the previous week, but it had become such a habit these days that she didn't stop to think it might not be the best course of action in an important meeting like this.

"You alright?" Harry asked her as she returned around the desk, sipping liberally from her tea cup as though the refreshing minty flavour would improve her mood and liven her up.

"I'm fine Harry," Hermione smiled. "Now why am I here? I assume it's important if you've got me meeting with these people instead of studying the new Kneazel-Serval hybrid you confiscated from the _Eeylops_ owner?"

"We need you to go into the field, Hermione," Harry informed her seriously and without preamble, smiling tightly at her for the way she was, for the time being, pretending the other important wizards weren't in the room.

"I do hope you mean an actual field – to study Puffeskins or something equally fascinating," Hermione replied tightly, her lips pinching at the idea. It wasn't that she didn't have the training for highly dangerous situations – she was a magical creature expert. When she wasn't forming, drafting, overturning or writing legislation pertaining to the creatures she was dedicating hours upon hours to field work and lab work studying all the magical creatures her department dealt with. Meaning all the wizarding world had to offer.

She knew how to evade an Egg-Crazed dragon as well as she could avoid the Venom Spitting Tangelvine Imp flicking thorns at her and spitting poison. She was also trained – at Harry's insistence – in tactical Auror evasion and duelling. Something he and Ron had insisted upon when they'd finished their first year of Auror training.

"I'm afraid not, Hermione," Kingsley informed her, his deep baritone seeming much more serious and concerning than Harry's voice.

"We agreed after the Carrow Incident four years ago that I wasn't to be allowed in the field anymore, excepting that required for my own departmental study. We agreed, Minister!" Hermione insisted, her lips pursing into a tight frown.

Hermione caught the way Urquart and Bramwell both shuddered at the mention of the 'Carrow Incident' while Malfoy flinched slightly in his chair. Kingsley looked sympathetic and when Hermione looked at Harry she saw that he was worried about her reaction.

"We did agree," Kingsley nodded. "But we need a woman to handle this particular mission."

"And the number of talented female Aurors and other MLE agents just aren't up to par?" Hermione asked scathingly, her nails digging into the metal of her keep-warm travel mug.

"We need someone able to identify and catalogue species of magical creature in an underground smuggling ring we've come across," Harry told her, looking ashamed. "As well-trained as my Aurors and MLE teams are, they don't have your knowledge of magical creatures or your ability to memorise things."

"What does a smuggling ring have to do with the Muggle Liaison office and the International Affairs office?" Hermione asked. A sense of dread filled her as she took another glance around the room.

"We believe the ring is one of several operating out of both muggle and magical establishments throughout Britain, Africa and Europe," Harry said honestly. "The incident at Eeyelop's, it turns out, was the result of a smuggling deal gone wrong. Eeyelop was breeding the cats we confiscated and he was supposed to pass the kittens on when they were born but he hung onto a few – the runts of the litter – to see what else he could do with them. The smugglers running the ring found out and were rather put out with him over it. Once Eeyelop realised he was busted either way, he rolled on the smugglers. His intel led us to an underground ring in Earl's Court – muggle London – dealing in stolen dragons and some other species my agents couldn't identify."

Hermione squirmed uncomfortably in her seat when she suddenly the all-too-familiar sensation of a wet tongue probing her nether and she slanted a glare in Malfoy's direction without meaning too.

"Don't look at me, woman," he smirked. "None of this is my fault."

"Oh, really?" she huffed. "You're the one in charge of smuggling, trafficking and other illicit behaviour and this has been going on under your nose?"

Hermione glared at him when he narrowed his eyes on her in annoyance for calling him out. She also used nonverbal magic to repair the hole in his robe pocket, ceasing the feel on his finger trailing over his tattoo and making her wet in the middle of an important meeting.

"It's really not his fault," Harry spoke up in Malfoy's defence. Hermione turned her most hateful glare on her best friend for his betrayal. "We believe this ring is only new to Britain – like less than a month old – and that the explosion at Eeyelops was an accident that tipped us off to their operation. From what we can tell the chap who was threatening Eeyelop about the kittens he kept happened to be carrying a highly illegal and explosive breed of dragon egg inside his pocket. One that explodes when it's ready to hatch. He got away with the dragon – must've known it was going to hatch soon and taken it out of his pocket since no one died – but it was an accidental act of terror associated with the ring."

"Allowing you to class them not only as smugglers and illegal breeders, but also as terrorists for the potentially deadly situation they instigated. Lucky break," Hermione sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. "I knew I should have stayed at home and owled in sick today."

"Are you not feeling well, Miss Granger?" Bramwell asked, sounding sympathetic.

"I'm not," Hermione admitted. "I haven't been all week. Harry, why me? Why, specifically, do you need _me_ to infiltrate the ring? You said it needs to be a woman."

Harry looked guilty, glancing down at his desk for a minute.

"The leader of the ring is believed to be an African man with a penchant for classy women interested in exciting and highly illegal magical creatures and other illicit behaviour," he admitted tightly. "When it became clear that identifying many of the species being trafficked – alongside other illegal trafficking of illicit substances – we realised we would need you. If it helps, I'll be sending Seamus, Malfoy and Higgins in with you. Higgins was willing to go without you – knowing your feelings of field assignments through my office – but she doesn't understand much to do with magical creatures other than to recognise the Big Five."

Hermione pinched her lips together in a frown. She got to her feet and began to pace the length of Harry's office, her high heels clicking loudly in the silent office as she traversed back and forth. There had been a time when Hermione Granger would have jumped at this kind of assignment. That was before she'd been involved in the Carrow incident. Harry had enlisted her assistance then when tracking down what they believed to be a coven of vampires who'd been feasting on children and leaving them drained. That had been before she'd come up against the Carrow siblings in the field – the ones behind the vampire attacks.

They'd been attacking muggleborn children – having infiltrated the Ministry and gotten hold of a list of muggle-born students destined for Hogwarts. All had been killed before their eleventh birthday. All had been drained of blood. The Carrows had enlisted the help of three vampires to eradicate muggleborns from the face of the Earth. Hermione had been jumped from behind whilst duelling with Alecto Carrow, managing to land a Killing Curse on the witch before she'd been bitten and fed on by two vampires.

Had it not been for Harry's timely arrival she'd have been dead. The incident had made her angry but it had also scared her. She'd suffered post-traumatic stress as a result and had been forced to take three months off work while she spent several hours a day with a shrink when she'd begun reliving the torture she'd endured during the war. She'd grown paranoid and mistrustful of everyone going so far as to accuse Ron - her boyfriend at the time – of cheating on her and trying to poison her.

It was one of the reasons she drank. And it was the reason Ron had eventually broken up with her. He hadn't blamed her for her slight mental break, but he'd been unable to get past her lack of trust in him and his love for her. Something, ironically, that had proved fleeting when he'd broken up with her eight months after the incident.

No one liked mentioning it; no one liked thinking about it and, most importantly, it was treated much like the war and any mention of Voldemort – with flinches, shudders and fear. The Carrows had eradicated more than seventy five muggleborn children before they'd been stopped and several more adults they'd encountered along the way. The death toll had been in the high hundreds since the Carrows had seen fit to also kill off the parents, siblings and extended families of the muggleborns being targeted.

"Why aren't Seamus and Sarah in this meeting?" she asked Harry as she paced back and forth, chewing her bottom lip and drumming her nails on her cup.

"They've already been briefed and agreed to the assignment," Harry admitted. "I saw no reason to include them in this meeting."

Hermione could read between the lines. He'd tried to keep her embarrassment to a minimum, expecting her to react poorly to the assignment. She could tell he had only included the others for the specific reason that she needed to know the gravity of the situation. The international affairs office, the muggle liaison office and the very Minister for Magic were all counting on her ability to overcome her fear, strap on her big girl knickers and save the world. Malfoy's presence was clearly centred on the fact that he was in charge of the department that would be most directly affected by the assignment and because he was to be her field partner when she agreed.

And she knew she had no choice but to agree. She had a reputation to win back. She might've had a psychotic break four years ago that had tanked her entire future, but Hermione Granger had clawed her way back into the high standing of the wizarding world. Helped largely by the fact that the Healer who'd been assigned her case after she'd been bitten by the vampires and almost killed had picked up the signs of mental instability and acted immediately to get her proper treatment.

In fact within that room only Kingsley and Harry were aware of the full ramifications of the Carrow Incident. Malfoy, Bramwell and Urquart most likely only believed her to be skittish and fearful of the job after having been attacked. That she'd been almost killed in the line of duty was common knowledge. That she'd snapped afterwards was only known by the few privileged with the proper clearance and need-to-know.

She had no choice but to accept the assignment. Not without seeming like a wimp who didn't care about the fate of the magical creatures she'd dedicated her life to studying and protecting. Levelling a glare at Harry, though it was hardly his fault, Hermione paced some more, feeling the eyes of all men in the room fixed on her.

"Four is too many," she informed them. "If this ring leader – who most likely will not be hanging around muggle London for a few cat hybrids and a couple of dragons – has such an interest in women, it makes no sense to send in four people and certainly not two men. Two men with distinguishing features that will give their identity away. Seamus's accent is a dead giveaway. And I mean, Malfoy? Come on, who isn't going to recognise that crooked halo of blond hair?"

"You think I'm lopsided?" Malfoy drawled, watching her with wicked amusement dancing in his eyes. Hermione fixed an icy glare upon her husband, horrified to think of him that way.

"Don't be ridiculous," she snapped at him. "You know very well that I meant your halo is hanging so low and off centre, you're lucky you haven't strangled yourself with it."

"Are you hesitating to accept the assignment because working with me makes you… uncomfortable, Granger?" he asked. Hermione thought seriously about hexing him for the way he looked as though he meant the type of uncomfortable that sprung from drenched knickers.

Turning her attention to Harry, Hermione let him know with a silent glare that she was plotting a particularly creative punishment for him. He paled considerably at her expression.

"Now, Hermione," he began, getting to his feet and holding up his hands as though to fend off an impending attack. "There's no call for threats."

"Threats?" Urquart asked, looking alarmed and confused as a result of the lack of threat that had passed her lips.

"You ambushed me with this, Harry Potter," she accused. "You ambushed me with it, knowing I would have no choice but to agree to all the ridiculous terms and dreadful choices of field partners. You dragged me in here unannounced to spring it on me to prevent me from refusing."

"You would have refused the assignment if I hadn't," Harry argued. He looked like he wanted to back away from her but didn't want to lose face as head of the Magical Law Enforcement department and Head Auror. Hermione advanced on him slowly, her nails drumming much slower and more threateningly against the metal of her cup. She fingered her wand in her pocket with her other hand.

"Did I tell you that I'm breaking things off with Oliver?" Hermione asked Harry quietly, further confusing the gathered Ministry heads with her sudden change of topic but not demeanour.

"Hermione…." Harry winced taking one small step back now. "Is that… necessary? … Don't. Merlin, don't. Please."

Hermione smiled nastily at her best friend, pleased he'd gotten the message loud and clear. The message that she was actually going to wrangle his wife into several wild nights out with her in muggle London. Nights that usually involved Ginny getting positively sloshed and singing in her abrasive and obnoxious voice to horrid muggle rap songs with intermittent Spice Girls throwbacks thrown in for her amusement.

"You should have realised it would come to this, Harry Potter," said Hermione. Her smile grew before she turned back to the other men in the room.

"I assume you all understand the tasks required of you to pull this assignment of effectively?" she asked sternly. "Urquart, you'll need to clear us for international travel and ensure Malfoy, Finnigan, Higgins and I have international jurisdiction. If I'm to insert myself into this smuggling ring then I'll damn well be doing it properly, not just skulking in for a gander and leaving again. Bramwell, you need to alert the Muggle Prime Minister that there might be more explosions in the Earl's Court and greater London area. I suggest having them close down the area temporarily, beginning whenever we intend to infiltrate – road maintenance is always a good choice to get muggles avoiding the area. That or power outage. The Prime Minster will understand if you tell him there might be terrorist activity in the area that we're handling."

She smirked slightly to herself as both men looked rather alarmed by the shift in her attitude from calculating to bossy in a heartbeat.

"Kingsley, I need you on top of the media and the general wizarding community. We need a way to make sure they're on their guard, without tipping off the smugglers that we're coming for them. Maybe bandy it about a bit that there has been an increased number of illegal immigrants entering the country of late – some suspected of being former Death Eaters and others affiliated with that Italian mess from two years ago. We need them on the lookout for suspicious activity and possibly dangerous individuals without creating a total uproar. And everyone knows that the world could use a good stir to scare up some trouble for the Auror office to pounce on and shut down before it can get any more out of hand."

"Oi, my teams are on top of all illegal activity," Harry told her.

"Oh, of course, Harry. Possible terrorist activity and smuggling rings are just such run of the mill crimes, I'm sure they merely overlooked it while handling that case with the man hexing muggle toilet blocks to regurgitate on unsuspecting muggles," Hermione retorted. "And the point of Kingsley's task is to get your team detaining as many shady characters as possible to better identify the real hot-shots in this smuggling ring. I don't want to go wasting time on Joe the dragon breeder without a licence when Frankie the Furry is trafficking illegal Puffeskin-Mermaid hybrids by sea and accidentally losing them in the Thames on his way to Egypt to crossbreed them with Manticores. The more people you arrest and fine for petty crime, the more careful folks will be, but the less likely it is that we'll run down the wrong lead."

"Just who are the head of the MLE and the Minister for Magic again?" Harry chided her for her bossy tone though he was grinning a little.

"Keep on your toes, all of you, or I'll be doing the job," Hermione said with a smirk.

"And as for you," she fixed her eyes on Malfoy. He quirked one eyebrow at her cockily. "They might be your team and this might be your field, but I'm in charge and you'd better get used to it. Do something with that hair and stay the hell out of my way."

Malfoy lost his smirk at her deadly serious expression.

"I'm in charge, witch," he said. "Your job is to shuffle about, cataloguing illegal creatures we can't identify and trying not to smother people with that horrid mop you pass off as hair. _You_ stay out of _my_ way or I'll have you drawn up for insubordination to a commanding officer."

"I'm not on the MLE; those forms mean nothing to me," she retorted. "They can't even give me probation if I'm insubordinate. Best get used to having a loose cannon in your midst Malfoy – because I don't have to play by your rules."

"Actually…." Kingsley said, watching the by-play between her and Malfoy.

"Kingsley Shacklebolt, do you _want_ me to invite Valmai to my next soiree into muggle London with Ginny?" Hermione demanded, cutting him off before he could contradict her.

"I was only going to let you know that you can be classified as a member of the MLE – for international jurisdiction purposes," Kingsley answered diplomatically, paling beneath his dark complexion at the idea of Hermione roping his wife into a night or two of muggle clubbing. The Harpies were bad enough when she took Ginny with her alone. If she dragged the whole team along, their husbands were all in for a wretched few weeks of obnoxious muggle music being spouted at inopportune moments.

"Did you just threaten the Minster for Magic?" Malfoy wanted to know. "Is that what you were threatening Potter with by suggesting you'll soon be single?"

"Oh, Malfoy," Hermione sighed, patting his cheek patronisingly. "Welcome to the wost field assignment of your life."

Harry snorted and began to cough as he attempted to hide a laugh before Hermione strolled over to the door.

"Hey, where are you going?" Malfoy called. "I'm briefing my team on when we'll be infiltrating the ring after this meeting is over."

"This meeting's over now unless you're continuing it without me and you'll brief the team tomorrow," Hermione replied, smirking at Harry.

"Where are you going now?" Harry wanted to know.

"Home. To bed. Otherwise you can all risk the entire operation by having me sneeze and possibly vomit on the smugglers as a means of self-defence," Hermione told him, feeling her strength waning by the second.

"You're ill?" Kingsley asked, looking concerned.

"Have been for days, Kings," Hermione smiled tiredly. "But I think it's time to swing by the Apothecary before getting some rest or I might faint on a mission and I'm sensing that would be inconvenient."

"Is she always this flip about international crime syndicates?" Bramwell asked Urquart, looking uncomfortable.

"No," Harry answered on her behalf. "She's usually much more spirited about it and a lot brisker. Involves a lot of big words no one else understands and a plan so outrageously detailed that if anything does go wrong it's a minor miracle. And even when it does, she's got ten back-up plans prepared in the event of such a scenario. I'd be grateful she's not on her game today, if I were you."

Hermione laughed from the doorway as she reached it.

"Bloody hell, why isn't she Head Auror and Minister for Magic?" Urquart asked with begrudging respect in his tone as he glanced back at her.

"I don't have patience for the amount of idiots I'd be forced to deal with in either position, Mr Urquart. Good day, gentlemen." With that Hermione swept out of the office, wiggling her fingers in farewell and shooting a wink at Harry as she left.


	7. Chapter 6

**A/N: I'm so thrilled you're all enjoying this so much. Thanks ever so much for all your kind reviews. Much love! xx-Kitten.**

* * *

 **The Silver Dragon**

 _By Kittenshift17_

* * *

 **CHAPTER SIX**

* * *

Draco was going to hex her. He'd have to. The witch was barmy if she thought she was going to stalk in on his case and take over with her sharp tongue and her clicking heels to boot.

"Oi! Granger!" he called, having followed her out of the office when Potter dismissed him, clearly recognising Draco's need to put the witch in her place – that is to say, to set her straight on how this mission and this entire case would be carried out. Not her most useful place, which happened to be under him and screaming his name while he fucked her. Draco doubted Potter would be so accommodating were he to let on his thoughts about proper placement for Hermione Granger.

"Oh not now, Malfoy," Granger grumbled. She glanced over her shoulder at his shout but didn't stop as she stalked back through the Ministry towards her office. Draco gritted his teeth in annoyance with her that she didn't even have the decency to stop. Anyone else would have stopped in their tracks and be glancing at him furtively out of fear over being hexed, cussed or spoken down to condescendingly in such a way they left wondering if they'd ever been so insulted without actually being sworn at.

"Witch, I'll follow you all the way through the Ministry if you don't bloody stop," he warned her in annoyance, being sure to keep a dignified air to his gait. Malfoys didn't run after anyone. Especially not bossy, pompous, overbearing little mudbloods with wild hair and the sexiest bedroom eyes this side of Romania.

"Keep up then," she retorted. "I'm going to vomit on your shoes if I have to stop."

"You're legitimately unwell?" he asked. Draco walked a little faster until he caught her, keeping stride with her through the mostly deserted corridors. She actually did look a bit off. There was a slight sheen of sweat along her upper lip as though it were hard work to traverse between her department and the MLE. Her cheeks were also flushed pink beneath the make-up she'd dusted on that morning – something unusual outside of a function - suggesting she'd looked bloody terrible with her illness when she dragged her carcass out of bed that morning. She also had dark, bruise-like circles under her eyes as though she hadn't been sleeping well.

"I think I'm getting the flu," she nodded. "Did you need something Malfoy or are you just following me because you like the way my arse looks in this skirt?"

Draco nearly swallowed his tongue at her flirtatious question before realising she was paying him back for his comment in Potter's office about him making her uncomfortable.

"I'm in charge of the case," he told her. "Not you. You don't give orders to my agents. You don't issue orders to me. You do as I tell you and make sure none of us are killed on this assignment, got it?"

"Don't make stupid calls or try to assert dominance when it's not needed for the sake of pride then, Malfoy," she warned, slanting a glare in his direction. "Or you'll find my footprints on your forehead when I go right over your head and do what's best to make sure the mission isn't compromised and runs smoothly."

"And if your call is a bad one?" he challenged. "If I have to pay the price – as commanding officer of the mission and the Trafficking department - if you mess up?"

"Malfoy in the sixteen years you've known me, have I often messed up?" she asked him. "Have I made stupid mistakes?"

"You let Potter and Weasley lead you into trouble," he pointed out. "It's a miracle the three of you are still kicking."

"No Malfoy, I learned at a young age that they are headstrong and rash-acting males and learned to plan for the inevitable fall-out when they got us all in over our heads. Those 'miracles' were more often than not the result of me having enough smarts and forward-planning combined with Ron's skills at strategizing and Harry's irrational bravery," the witch informed him seriously. "As of right now, however, I know little of your nature when under pressure or in a squirrelly situation and all I know of Seamus and Sarah's abilities involve Seamus's gift for pyrotechnics and spontaneous combustion and Sarah's penchant for fidgeting when she gets tense. Until I know what I'm dealing with, I will be making contingency plans for everything and you will deal with it."

She stomped into her office and Draco levelled a glare at her secretary when the woman made to follow them in, clearly intent on passing along messages. She was a nondescript woman with entirely average features and a rather forgettable face.

"Don't close the door in Hatty's face, Malfoy," Granger warned when he'd been poised to do just that. "Hatty, I'm going home. I'll need you to rearrange my schedule a bit. I'm definitely coming down with the flu and liable to faint at any moment. Cancel all my appointments for this afternoon, could you? Can you let Luna know I'm taking the hybrid kittens home with me, too?"

"Right, of course. Erm… what do I tell Oliver if he comes back?" Hatty asked.

"Tell him the truth. That I'm home with the flu," Granger went on, ignoring his presence. Draco scowled at her with mounting frustration. He'd never met a more infuriating witch, he was sure of it. And that was saying something, given who his mother was and who his fiancé happened to be.

"Also I…" Granger stopped suddenly and Draco darted towards her when she swayed precariously for a moment before she began to topple towards the floor as though lightheaded.

"Ooooh," she groaned. Her eyes were unfocused as Draco caught her against his chest before she could fall and hit her head on the desk.

"Bloody hell, Granger," Draco sighed. He peered into her face, her lilac and honeysuckle scent engulfing him.

"Oh no, is she alright?" Hatty the assistant asked, hurrying forwards.

"Don't be alarmed," Draco smirked. "Granger is hardly the first woman to swoon in my presence."

He dodged when Granger tried to swat at him for his cheekiness, but in doing so nearly lost his grip on her. Scooping her up until she was cradled against his chest, Draco realised she was actually rather unwell. She didn't even protest.

"Everything spins when you do that," she told him softly, laying her cheek against the hollow of his shoulder.

"You're kind of pathetic when you're sick," he replied. He felt the strangest twinge inside his chest as he looked down at her sorry state.

"That's a horrible thing to say!" Hatty exclaimed. Draco rolled his eyes.

"He's called me worse," Granger waved her away. "I need to go home. Hatty, could you bring me those kittens?"

"You expect me to stand here and cradle you while she fetches you some cats?" Draco demanded, amused by the witch in spite of himself. He'd not spent much time interacting with her whilst sober before now. They were either drunk and shagging or hungover and feeling sorry for themselves. There was no middle ground. Or hadn't been, until now.

"You can put me down if you want to. I'll Floo home with my kittens," she told him though she'd closed her eyes and begun nuzzling her cheek against his shoulder like a sleepy kitten herself.

"Here you go, Boss," Hatty told her, coming back with three small kittens in a clear box with air-holes in it.

"Thanks Hatty," Granger sighed. She wrapped her arms around the box when Hatty brought it over and placed it on her stomach while Draco continued to cradle the witch.

"I assume you're going to take her home, Mr Malfoy?" Hatty asked him sternly, looking concerned for her boss.

"I don't appear to have much choice in the matter," Draco replied dryly, stepping towards the fireplace with the intention to Floo to her flat. "Lock her office when you leave, I'll Floo back to my own."

"What are you doing here anyway?" Hatty asked.

"That's hardly your business, is it?" he asked, raising one eyebrow condescendingly at the witch as he stepped into the fireplace with a pinch of floo powder. Granger gripped the kittens tight, still looking like she was asleep in his arms.

"GRANGER'S FLAT!" Draco shouted before he was whooshed into her flat once more.

He climbed out of the fireplace with the witch still in his arms even as she began fiddling with the latches on the carry-cage with the kittens in it. They didn't seem overly perturbed by their Floo travel as she opened the box and let them free.

"You're going to let them run wild in your flat?" he asked when she tossed the empty box onto the couch a minute later while the kittens raced each other around her lounge room.

"They've been living here," she sighed sleepily. "They're used to it. Crooks gets so annoyed with them, it's rather funny actually. Grumpy old fluff-ball."

"What is a Crooks?" Draco frowned before something large, orange and pug-nosed came racing into the room with a yowl, fur standing on end. The kittens mimicked the sound and rushed at the older feline, tackling him playfully and beginning to purr so loudly that Draco could hear them from across the room.

"That's a Crooks. His name is Crookshanks, he's my cat. You can put me down, you know?" she told him, wriggling a little in his grip.

"No I can't. You'll fall and hit your head on something. And then we'll be bollocksed for the mission," Draco informed her. "I assume you're smart enough to keep Pepper-Up Potion in your bathroom vanity?"

"You can't just charge around my flat cradling me like some swooning bride, Draco Malfoy," she protested weakly as he explored the flat until he found her bathroom. He sat her carefully on the bathroom sink and began raiding the cabinets for the potion she needed. He blushed when he found a stock of contraceptive potions, a box of feminine products and some pregnancy tests in the first drawer he opened.

"Wrong drawer," she giggled upon catching sight of his pink cheeks.

"Planning for all outcomes here, Granger?" Draco asked, trying to keep some dignity and condescension about himself despite his embarrassment. He was twenty-six years old and he was no fool. He knew the horrid things witches had to suffer every month, even if he'd had little experience with such things. The few casual girlfriends he'd had before he'd been talked into betrothal had dealt with such issues.

"Makes sense to keep them together," Granger informed him clinically. "Pregnancy test if the painters and decorators don't come, tampons if they do and potions to make sure they bloody do."

"You're not pregnant now, are you?" he asked, continuing to search her vanity cupboard and discovering an alarming amount of dental floss, seven spare, unopened toothbrushes, a gallon of mouthwash and enough hair-ties to hang himself with. There were also enough hair products - Wonder Witch and Sleek-Eazies mostly - to drown himself.

"Why do you keep asking me that?" she demanded. "I have the flu, not a parasite."

"Must you mention such horrid things in my presence?" Draco asked, wrinkling his nose even as he finally found her medical supplies.

"It's what pregnancy is. A horrid growth and mutation of cells that rapidly form into something terrible that effects the host so severely, extraction is the only cure. A nasty little parasite that takes roots and feeds off the host until that is no longer sustainable. And when the parasite has the decency to remove itself – via excruciating pain, I might add – it has the audacity to squall and scream in demand for continued attention from the then-abandoned host for the rest of its life."

Draco was eyeing her in horror by the time she stopped speaking.

"I'm going to assume that you never want children…" he said slowly, unsure if he should feel safe in the same room with her.

"What are you talking about?" she had the nerve to ask, as though she weren't clinically insane. "Of course I want children. One day. With the right man. Once I have achieved all I want from my career. And have the time and inclination to tolerate the little beasts."

"Oh yes, very convincing Granger, I'm sold on your yearning for kids," Draco laughed, locating a Pepper-Up potion and unstoppering it before handing it to her and urging her to take it. She grimaced at the idea, not looking at all cooperative but gulping the potion down before making a face as the steam poured from her nose and ears, her cheeks flushing scarlet.

"Shut up," she rolled her eyes. "I'll have then one day."

"I dread the day," he informed her.

"Oh, you'll have one perfectly arrogant little snot and that will be that, don't lecture me," she snapped, making another face at him.

"Did you just suggest my child will be perfect?" he smirked at her.

"Perfectly arrogant. At least if it's anything like you. Who knows, they might end up an ice-queen like Astoria. You could have an ice-sculpture for a son," she said, reminding Draco of his betrothal and impending requirement to produce an heir with his horrid fiancé.

"What are you doing?" he asked her when he stopped scowling long enough to look at her again and found her wriggling on the bench, trying to free herself on the robes she wore.

"Can't sleep in these," she shrugged at him, slipping off the counter to her feet before she swayed precariously again.

"Oh bloody hell, witch," Draco sighed, catching her again before she could crack her head on the edge of the bath. "Stop wriggling and let me get at the zipper."

"You want to undress me?" she asked, her eyes slightly unfocused as the potion kicked in. She smirked at the idea.

"I don't take advantage of the ill," Draco informed her.

"No, just the inebriated and the emotionally vulnerable," she needled. Draco couldn't hold back his smirk even as he helped her with the zip on her skirt, watching it puddle at her feet and leaving her standing there in her half-buttoned blouse and her knickers. They were a cute little cotton and lace pair in a terribly tempting shade of cream. She looked entirely too innocent and utterly delectable as she returned his smirk wickedly like the little vixen he knew she could be when she wasn't ill and being pathetic.

"Don't act like you didn't benefit from my lack of scruples," Draco chided. He steered her down the hall and into her bedroom. His gaze wandered the room as he helped her towards her bed while she went to work on the buttons on her blouse. She wore a camisole underneath, but Draco decided she looked rather alluring in only her under things.

"Why are you here anyway?" she asked suddenly, pausing as she tried to work the pins out of her curls. "You're supposed to be pretending I don't exist and that you've never seen me naked. What will Daddy Dearest say when he learns you escorted me home while I was unwell?"

"You are now a colleague," Draco replied. "One I have to work with on a daily basis while entering into dangerous and highly volatile situations. He'll realise I was simply protecting my own arse by making sure you don't compromise a mission."

"Ironic how we have to work together now, of all times," she muttered, looking frustrated when she couldn't get the pins out of her hair properly while she could barely keep her balance. Draco resorted to pressing her lower half to his, gripping her hips gently to hold her up while she fiddled. He didn't rightly know why he was helping her.

"Meaning?" he asked.

"We used to ignore each other at work and only shag," she shrugged. "Now we have to work together and ignore the idea of shagging."

"Disappointed?" Draco smirked at her, bouncing his eyebrows cockily at her slightly put-out expression.

"I think I'll live," she rolled her eyes. "Though whether or not you do remains to be seen. I hardly think tolerating you and your enormous ego will be so agreeable when we're not drunk and fucking like the human race depends on it."

"You're fun when you're ill," Draco deadpanned. "You get even blunter than usual. You do realise you threatened the Minister for Magic this morning?"

"He tried to pull rank on me," she shrugged unapologetically, finally untangling her hair and letting it cascade down her back.

"You realise you can't threaten me with a wife behaving badly when I pull rank on you, right Granger?" Draco continued to smirk at her.

"You realise I can make your life even more miserable than anyone else's, right Malfoy?" she smiled at him sweetly. Curly haired little vixen.

"I'm betrothed to a woman I loathe, being forced into an arranged marriage and have to work with you, Finnigan and some other bint. All while suffering my father meddling into my sexual affair," Draco replied coldly. "What more could you possibly do?"

Granger grinned at him widely, clearly beginning to grow very sleepy from the potion.

"If I told you, then it wouldn't be a surprise," she replied. Draco chuckled in spite of himself. She was funny when she was trying to be evasive.

"Just sleep off this inconveniently timed illness and turn up for work tomorrow, would you, witch?" he chastised her. "If we miss this meet of the smuggler's in Earl's Court because of your ill-timed flu, I'm going to spank you."

"I might like that," she replied flirtatiously, a smirk creeping across her cheeks even as her eyelids fluttered closed while he was still clutching her to him.

"I know you'll like it," Draco said self-assuredly. "Now stop flirting with me and get into bed, woman, before you fall on your face."

"You wouldn't let me fall," she replied leaning towards him instead and pillowing her cheek on his chest.

"What makes you so sure?" he wanted to know.

"You haven't so far," she shrugged. "Now, unhand me, villain! I'm to sleep and you're not supposed to be here."

She lifted her head off his chest once more, blinking her eyes open slowly and stepping back out of his hold. She nearly fell again but luckily she was close enough to the bed that she sat down upon it heavily. Draco marvelled at her lack of grace as she crawled across the covers before burrowing beneath them without removing her camisole.

"I'm not," he agreed. "You realise this assignment is going to be horrible, don't you?"

"Of course I do," she rolled her eyes at him, snuggling down against her pillows in a way that he might've called cute if he were prone to such sissy nonsense. "The dynamic between you and I works because we only interact when inebriated and emotionally fraught as a means of physically out-letting a number of vile emotions. And while under other circumstances such an assignment might have made for easier access to such an arrangement, our… interaction isn't like that. You don't much like me as a person – despite barely knowing me – and I don't much like you, either. You're too arrogant and always certain that you're right. It's going to be the longest few months of your life until this case is closed. Mostly because we're not going to be shagging during that time as it will jeopardise the mission and we might be caught by your father or the other people on the case. But also because you're going to have a terrible time adjusting to the fact that _I'm_ always right."

"In other words," Draco deadpanned. "We're going to kill each other unless we're fucking. And we can't fuck."

"That's about the size of it," she nodded, blinking sleepily at him. "Go away now and let me sleep, or I'm taking tomorrow off too."

Draco smirked at her despite himself, amused by her bossiness even when she looked like an oversized bed-worm all snuggled up in her quilt and blankets.

"If you're not at work tomorrow, I'm going to come looking for you Granger," he warned her seriously. "And you might get that spanking."

"It's like you don't _want_ me to get better," she smiled half-heartedly and Draco laughed. "Now be a good boy and kiss my forehead before you go."

Draco snorted at her request.

"You want me to kiss your forehead?" he scoffed.

Granger cracked one eyelid open to glare at him.

"I'm sick! You're supposed to be nice to me!" she demanded. Draco kind of hated the fact that she now looked grumpy and entirely adorable about it, too.

Unaccustomed to such things, Draco moved around the edge of her bed and tugged the covers up to her chin, tucking her more securely under the sheets before he leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to the middle of her forehead. She sighed contently as he did so, as though it genuinely made her feel better.

"Anything else, your highness?" he asked as he straightened.

"Warm milk would be nice," she informed him and Draco rolled his eyes.

"Don't push you luck, Granger," he told her, strolling out of the bedroom.

She blew a raspberry at him as he walked off down the hall and Draco was sure he must be losing his mind when he found himself going into her kitchen and finding her a mug and some milk. Unsure how to use her muggle devices to heat it, Draco used his wand to bring the liquid to a toasty temperature as he carried it back down the hall. He wondered what had gotten into him that he was being so nice to her, other than the fact that she genuinely was unwell and was cute as a button about it.

If anyone had ever told him he'd one day be waiting on an unwell mudblood, he'd have hexed them and then dragged them to St. Mungo's mental ward. Of course, if anyone had told him he'd have shagged the life out of that same mudblood several times over and enjoyed the hell out of it, he might've checked himself into the mental ward as well. Instead, Draco carried the mug of warm milk into her bedroom and set it lightly on her bedside table beside the hefty tome she had sitting there – something about traditional wizarding marriages that looked terribly ponderous.

Granger cracked one eye open at him as he set down the mug.

She didn't say anything about him having brought her what she wanted, but the look on her face really said it all. A slight look of surprise that he'd actually done what she asked of him despite it being elf-work, mixed with an all-too-knowing expression that silently had Draco recalling her accusation the previous week about him getting attached.

Blast it all, the witch was right! He bloody well was attached to her. He didn't fancy her and he didn't particularly want to be her friend but he enjoyed her, nonetheless. Her snarky attitude that led to their strange interactions inside the bedroom. Her tolerance of his penchant for spanking her and tying her to the bed. Her willingness to allow it without a word of complaint and her ability to bloody get off on it as much as he did. Her tight little body that he'd ravaged every inch of without a word of complaint from her. Even her willingness to pull him up on his attachment and push him away for both their sakes.

He was bloody attached to his mudblood and for the next few months there didn't seem like there was going to be a bloody thing either of them could do about it. Nodding his head once at her in realisation of the mistake he'd just made by being nice to her when he ought not to have, Draco left her room and then her flat without another word and without a backward glance.


	8. Chapter 7

**A/N: Thanks so much for reading and reviewing you guys. I'm pleased to see the new summary is attracting more of you lovely darlings. I hope you like the new chapter and don't forget to pop a review at the bottom to tell me what you think of the fic so far. I hope you enjoy this 8k word monster. Much love! xx-Kitten.**

* * *

 **The Silver Dragon**

 _By Kittenshift17_

* * *

 **Chapter 7**

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Dragging herself out of bed the following morning felt even harder than getting out of bed was after a night spent shagging Draco within an inch of his life. She ached all over and she felt like her whole head was the size of one really fat, really obnoxious elephant. There was a ringing in her ears and she still felt rather dizzy when she managed to stand.

Hermione was certain, after much pondering over an ill-gotten mug of warm milk, that her illness was a result of the Memory Potion she'd taken to remember she'd been a complete fool and had married Draco Malfoy a week ago. She had yet to perfect the concoction – hence still being bereft of her parents ten years after the war – and she suspected that whatever she'd done to it whilst intoxicated had resulted in it being so potent was to be blamed for her current illness.

In fact Hermione suspected she'd been too heavy handed with valerian root and that she might be in need of an antidote to valerian root poisoning. But she couldn't get it whilst in her flat and she certainly couldn't go to St Mungo's for it without explaining how she'd been poisoned in the first place. Groaning, Hermione dressed herself in preparation for going into the field as an undercover MLE consultant in muggle London – donning black muggle skinny jeans with boots, a warm undershirt and her favourite coat. Hermione was only too grateful that winter was well on the way.

She lived for the colder months that so reminded her of Hogwarts and utterly adored being able to wear her favourite kinds of clothing. Sure, she loved a good sun-dress as much as the next girl, but Hermione couldn't deny that she was a jeans and jacket kind of girl. Locating a green beanie and a matching scarf along with her favourite purple fingerless-gloves, Hermione travelled by Floo to the Minstry.

She groaned dizzily as she staggered out of the fireplace in the Auror office – having been given special permission to use that part of the network. Harry had stopped by on his way home yesterday afternoon to inform her as much and to check on her – having heard from Malfoy that she'd been too ill to remain at work and had supposedly swooned in Malfoy's presence. She was going to kick the git for it too.

As she attempted to right herself, clutching at her head in agony as it throbbed, Hermione noticed that several aurors – including Seamus and Higgins – were watching her and looking mildly alarmed.

Too out of sorts and dizzy to greet them, Hermione cussed herself for not having opted to just stay at home again today, Malfoy's threat of spanking her be damned. Stumbling groggily towards Harry office, in desperate need of an antidote to the poisoning now, Hermione groaned when she collided with an all too familiar chest that smelled distinctly like intoxicating cologne.

"Swooning for me again, Granger?" Malfoy's voice drawled from above her head and Hermione barely resisted the urge to surrender her weight to him and simply burrow into his warm chest like it was home.

"Move it, Malfoy," she replied, breathless with her dizziness, "I need to see Harry."

"You need to sit down," he corrected her, "You're still sick?"

Hermione groaned when his finger under her chin tipped her head back so he could meet her gaze. He was frowning at her. All three of him.

"Move," she whispered, "I need valerian-root antidote."

"You've been poisoned?" Malfoy asked loudly, frowning in concern now and Seamus leapt up from behind her, looking concerned.

"POTTER!" Malfoy shouted suddenly and Hermione hissed at him, clutching her head with one hand and swatting him with the other for the way the sound made her headache even worse.

"Bloody hell, Malfoy, what is it?" Harry asked, sounding cranky as he came out of his office, four of him frowned suddenly before hurrying closer. Belatedly, Hermione realised she had apparently given into the urge to burrow into Malfoy's intoxicating scent, leaning heavily against his chest.

"Hermione? What is it? What's happened to you?" Harry asked, dashing over and snatching her out of Malfoy's hold. Hermione sincerely hoped that everyone thought it was in protest of being grabbed and pulled about and not a sound of protest of being removed from Malfoy's embrace. It was hardly fair that the man smelled so good.

"I need…" she whispered breathlessly, clutching at Harry and trying to sort out her thoughts, "Anitdote… the antidote I gave you…. For emergencies."

"You…" Harry began, frowning, "You've taken your potion? Damn it Hermione! You promised me you wouldn't test it on yourself again after last time!"

Hermione squeaked when Harry suddenly handed her right back to Malfoy – who happened to be standing very close as though concerned for her – while Harry dashed back into his office and charged out again moments later. He clutched the phial of antidote she'd given him for emergencies after she'd foolishly tried her Memory Potion on herself the last time she'd thought she'd made a breakthrough with it. That time, she'd poisoned herself so badly she'd ended up in St Mungo's overnight for observation and had been banned from testing it on herself on anyone else again.

"Hold her still Malfoy," Harry commanded, uncorking the phial in his hand as he returned, "She's about to fight like a hell-cat."

With that said, Harry pried her mouth open, poured the horrid antidote inside and then clamped his hand over her nose and mouth. The foul tasting potion made her gag and fight, writhing in Malfoy's grip as she attempted to dislodge Harry's hands from her orifices so she could spit the potion out and possibly hurl on his shoes for good measure. Harry's free hand stroked her throat repeatedly until she swallowed convulsively. For a few extra seconds Harry kept his hand clamped over her face to prevent her from vomiting anything back up before he finally released her and Hermione slumped in Malfoy's hold.

"Bloody hell," Seamus was saying and Hermione was dimly aware of the fact that several other Aurors in the office – most of Malfoy's department, in fact – were there and looking on as though concerned. Hermione felt her cheeks heat at their attention, wishing she hadn't encountered Malfoy and so could've had this occur privately in Harry's office, as she'd planned.

The antidote wasn't working very well, however, and she was still seeing triple of everything, her head swimming.

"It's not working," Hermione breathed to Harry, trying to focus on his face but unsure which one was which, "Too much Valerian root… not potent enough in the antidote."

"I grabbed two," Harry informed her grimly, and Hermione whimpered when he repeated the process of forcing a second antidote on her while Malfoy tightened his grip on her again. He had moulded her back to his chest, his chin hooked over the top of her head to better hold her in place while Harry poured the antidote down her throat and made her swallow it. Their superior height to her made it all rather easy for it.

Even as she gagged on the second antidote, Hermione dimly found herself thinking she was grateful that Ron was still away on his honeymoon with Camilla. He would be berating her, growling in her ear about what a fool she was for having tried the potion on herself again. Instead, Malfoy was silent. His grip was resolute and almost comforting as he held her still, moving with her enough as to prevent hurting her as she writhed, but not enough that she could get free of his hold. She expected that came from practice at inflicting such pleasure on her that she writhed.

Not that anyone else needed to know that.

As some of the dizziness began to recede, Hermione pulled herself out of Malfoy's grip, stumbling towards the nearest desk chair – which happened to be Malfoy's – and dropping into in gracelessly.

"Everyone get back to work," Harry snapped at his employees when they all stood around gawking at her while she tried to catch her breath even as she laid her arms down on Malfoy's desk and laid her sweaty forehead on her arms.

Silently, everyone did as they were told, all of them returning to their desks and going back to whatever they were doing.

"Are you alright, Hermione?" Harry asked her in a tight voice when her breathing began to even out again.

"I will be," she promised without looking up at him. She could tell by his tone alone that he was furious with her. He, more than perhaps anyone, understood her yearning to have her parents back and her willingness to do everything in her power to return their memories to them and have them know who she was. But he didn't approve of her methods. Not when they interfered with her health like this.

"The you better tell me what in the hell you think you're doing still testing that damn potion on yourself, Hermione, or I swear to Merlin I'm going to hex you into next week!" he growled at her. Without lifting her head, Hermione became aware of the fact that Harry was looming over her and that Malfoy had moved to her far side and propped hi hips upon the corner of his desk. She could tell because she could feel the warmth of his thigh against her arm and could smell his delightful cologne from there. A special blend of warm leather, apples and spearmint, it flirted with her senses and awoke parts of her that had no right being awake just then.

It was a result of their sexual encounters, she knew. She'd begun associating the scent of Malfoy with a sense of pleasurable, emotional and physical release. She couldn't be blamed for the psychological conditioning that had taken place that made her body wet at the scent of Draco Malfoy.

"I did it," Hermione answered, lifting her head slowly to meet the furiously sparking green eyes of the man she loved like the brother she'd never had, "I did it, Harry. I've made the right batch. It overcomes all mental barriers and recalls to memory whatever one is unable to remember."

"And poisons you in the process!" Harry exploded at her, looking even more furious with her than ever.

"Well, yes," she admitted, "But that can be mitigated with antidote."

"You still don't know if it will work on muggles. You know that magical antidotes effect them differently. If you try this on your Mum and Dad, you might very well kill them, Hermione. You nearly bloody killed yourself!" Harry ranted at her, running his hand through his messy black hair as he glared down at her, "You promised me you would stop this! After what happened last time, you promised me that you wouldn't test them on yourself anymore!"

"I know," Hermione sighed, massaged her temples with her fingers and ignoring the way Malfoy had gone still on her far side. She expected he was wondering what she'd been doing ingesting Memory Potion and realised with a jolt that he was now going to believe that she remembered what they'd been doing that ended with him tattooed so thoroughly.

Blast!

But no matter. She would simply evade his questions and refuse to give him any of the potion. It was poisonous, after all.

"Then what the hell were you thinking?" Harry demanded.

"I was thinking I needed to make sure I hadn't done stupid at Ron's wedding after getting blackout drunk," Hermione snapped at Harry, rapidly losing her temper with him now.

"Why would you think…?" Harry trailed off when Hermione leapt to her feet and stormed away from him.

"Where are you going Granger?" Malfoy drawled from behind her, "If you're feeling better, I need to brief you so we can go on this bloody mission before they move their smuggling ring meet. Again."

"Stick it, Malfoy," Hermione retorted without looking back at him.

"Damn it, Hermione, I'm not done talking to you!" Harry called, hurrying after her.

"You are until I've had my morning cuppa, Harry, or I'll be dragging Ginny to that concert I've been nattering on about for weeks," Hermione replied, "The band you hate!"

Harry's footsteps stopped from behind her and Hermione heard him muttering unkind things about his best friend and then about his wife for having such a good recall of awful songs and such a lack of shame over her awful tone-deafness to repeat them. Loudly.

Hermione left him there and went in search of the nearest drinks trolley. This time of the morning there was a tea-lady in every department of the Ministry – usually mobbed by Assistants – where one could get all their warm beverage needs to begin the day.

"Hi Cindy," Hermione smiled when she located the MLE's tea-lady. Cindy was a woman in her sixties who made some of the best cups of tea and the sweetest hot chocolate this side of Hogwarts. She was kind an always full of helpful advice and titbits of gossip. It was why she worked with the Auror department. More cases and been closed thanks to the titbits of information Cindy knew about everything than ever before since they had employed her. Harry was particularly fond of her.

"Hermione Granger, my darling! How are you?" Cindy greeted her, pulling Hermione into a soft embrace that she was sure grandchildren the world over dreamed of receiving from their grandmother's.

"I'm alright now, Cindy," Hermione smiled, "You're looking particularly lovely this morning. You've had your hair done?"

"Oh pish tosh," Cindy blushed, waving a dismissive hand, though her wide smile told Hermione it was true and that the woman was pleased it had been noticed.

"It's looks absolutely stunning. That colour really suits you," Hermione assured her brightly, already feeling better than she'd done all week as the antidote worked on her body to repair the damage the valerian root had done.

"Well thank you, dear," Cindy smiled, "Now, what are you doing up in our department so often lately? Mr Weasley went and got himself married to that delightful little thing, Camilla, so I know you're not here for him. Oh, let me guess, you're seeing…"

She trailed off, her sharp eyes looking over the entire MLE department. Hermioine waited patiently, knowing the woman would be displeased if she didn't egt to guess why Hermione was in the department. She always guessed that it wa because of the many handsome young wizards working for the MLE. She never actually wanted to know if she was there on assigned case work. Cindy was a firm believer in playing match-maker and that all young single witches like Hermione must be in need of a man in her life.

"Hmm… now it can't be Mr Weasley or Mr Potter… and that sweet boy Mr Longbottom has been seeing the girl of Abbott, my little birds titter. It might be the explosive Mr Finnigan… But no, you're much to sensible for such a boy, aren't you dear. Leave him for one of the MLE girls. He needs a withc trained in fighting fires and reacting to random explosions and you don't have the patience for that… let me see now…"

Cindy tapped her chin several time.

"If it weren't for his very public betrothal I'd be inclicned to think you and the young Mr Malfoy would make a fine match," Cindy said shrewdly and Hermione nibbled her bottom lip nervously, "Much too disappointing. That girl he's seeing is a right little snit. Griped about my hot chocolate, she did. Rude little thing!"

Hermione hid her smile as Cindy digressed into a rant about Astoria Greengrass.

"Oh but listen to me, nattering on when you've got things to be getting on with. I suppose you'd like a warm drink too. Hmm?" Cindy looked Hermione over carefully, "You look like you've been under the weather dear. I've got just the thing to perk you up."

Hermione watched with a smile on her face at Cindy fixed Hermione a Mocha Latte with so much chocolate that it was more like a hot chocolate with a shot of coffee in it than the other way around. She also added a generous helping of Hazelnut syrup to it for Hermione, and tossed in a dash of cinnamon spice to give it a kick and get Hermione going.

"There we are dear," Cindy smiled as she handed Hermione the tallest take-away cup she sold filled with the delicious liquid. She'd topped it with foam and a dollop of whipped cream before sprinkling it with powdered chocolate.

"Thank you Cindy, you're a gem," Hermione informed her.

"You're too sweet, Hermione. Now, be a dear, would you, and take this one to Mr Potter before he has a cow this morning, and this one to Mr Malfoy," Cindy told her, handing her two more drinks – also in the tallest mugs she sold – one marked with a H for Harry and the other with a D for Draco, "I'll pop them on their tabs. They both look like they might need these if they're going to make it through the day today. I do love it when sweet little things like you come in and upset things around here. Those boys need a good stir."

Cindy patted Hermione's cheek affectionately, and then turned her attention to the other customers waiting – those she'd neglected to chat to Hermione with priority – and Hermione smiled, shaking her head affectionately as she left the woman to her drinks. Siping liberally from her own cup, Hermione weaved back through the MLE department towards where Harry had returned to his office and was sitting at his desk. His elbows were propped on the table and his fingers were knotted in his own hair.

Hermione gulped more of her coffee before she pushed Harry's drink towards him.

"Cindy asked me to bring you this," Hermione told him quietly and Harry's head snapped up in surprise to find her standing in front of his desk.

"Thanks," he murmured, taking the cup and drinking from it deeply as though he needed the strength the warm drink provided.

Hermione eyed him, waiting for him to resume his temper with her.

"Tell me what's going on with you, Hemrione," Harry said quietly, his voice no longer tight with anger, but instead even and reasonable.

"I made a breakthrough with the potion," Hermione shrugged, "It works. I remember everything I did and said at the wedding."

"Why did you need it after the wedding?" Harry asked.

"Did you not see how much I had to drink?" Hermione asked, raising her eyebrows at her best friend.

"I saw," Harry nodded, "I thought you were having a good time. And then Ron mentioned you saying something odd to him. And then no one could find you for the rest of the night. Why is that, Hermione? Why is it that lately, every other function we attend, I end up with Oliver accosting me, wondering if I've seen you, and you nowhere in sight. Where do you go? Why do you drink so much? And what were you afraid you had done whilst drunk at the wedding?"

Hermione eyed her best friend in silence for a long time.

"What do you want to hear, Harry?" Hermione asked him in a low voice.

"The truth," Harry replied immediately, "Is this about Ron?"

"Why would you think it would be about Ron?" Hermione asked him.

"Because of what you said to him at the wedding. You told him he'd never be your man, said something about being happy for him if his happiness was Camilla and then you disappeared," Harry frowned at her, "I thought you liked Camilla?"

"I do like her," Hermione told him, "She's lovely."

Harry looked baffled by her honest answer and Hermione sighed.

"Look Harry, I was just a bit emotional because I'd had a few too many drinks and I was acutely aware of the fact that you and Ginny are happily married. Now Ron's married as well. And I'm alone," Hermione shrugged, "I got a bit upset about it."

"I thought you are Oliver were happy?" Harry asked, frowning further now.

"Oh Harry," Hermione sighed, "Oliver's a wonderful person. He's funny and intense and delightful to look at. He's almost everything I'd want in a man. There's just one small problem."

"The Quidditch?" Harry guessed.

"It's not that he plays, or talks about it constantly, or even that he's utterly obsessed with everything Quidditch related. He plays for one of the league teams. I expected all of those things from him as a result of knowing what he does for a living and from knowing a bit of him when we were at Hogwarts."

"Then what is it?" Harry asked, looking confused.

"I adore that he plays," Hermione shrugged, "I adore that idea that he has something he's only too happy to indulge in when I want to bury myself in my work or take a long soak with a good book. That I don't feel like I need to babysit him is a relief and one of the things I particularly enjoy about Oliver. But someday, Oliver's going to get himself killed playing that sport. Not just injured. Not too old to play and forced to retire. Oliver Wood will die playing Quidditch."

Harry's eyes widened at her announcement and her rather blunt delivery.

"You don't want to be with him anymore because you think he'll die doing something he loves?" Harry asked, "That would be like me not loving Ginny anymore because she plays."

"No," Hermione shook her head, "You're misunderstanding me. Ginny loves the sport. She adores playing, she's good at it, she's intense about and she lives for it some days. But she's not in love with it. Losing it wouldn't wreck her. If she were to be injured and no longer able to play, she'd be upset, but she'd get over it. When the time comes that you and Ginny think about having kids, she'll give it up. She'll miss it, but she'll walk away from it."

Harry nodded his head slowly, agreeing with her assessment of his wife.

"Oliver could never do that," Hermione told him softly, "Oliver Wood cares more about that game than he does about anything else in the world. More than he does about me. More than he ever could care about me. And I don't at all begrudge him for that. But I can't be with him. At this stage in the game, if one isn't in a relationship in the hopes of turning into a marriage, then it's a waste of time. And I can't ever marry Oliver."

"Because he loves Quidditch?" Harry asked, still seeming like he couldn't understand her reasoning.

"Let me put it this way Harry," Hermione sighed, "Say we stayed together, got engaged, got married, had a few kids. What happens when the kids come down with a stomach bug and I can't get out of an important assignment at work – like opportunity of a lifetime, sent to the Himalyas to study some new sub-species of dragon that can only be done at night on the Equinox or something - and all of this falls on a game day? What then?"

"Well…" Harry began and Hermione could tell that in his mind the answer was easy, that he would skip the game and care for the kids. And that was why Harry Potter was going to make a fantastic father one day.

" _You_ would skip the game," Hermione told him softly, "Ron would skip the game. Ginny would skip the game."

"You don't think Oliver would skip it?" Harry said slowly, comprehension seeming to dawn on him.

"I don't think I could bear asking him to," Hermione answered solemnly, "Imagine if it was a final? The world cup? Something terribly important to him? I could never ask him to. I would never _want_ to ask him to. Do you understand? I adore Oliver. I really do. He'd be the perfect man for me in all other regards. But I won't live a life where the needs of my family comes second to a game and where I'm the only one who has to sacrifice my happiness for the sake of the other. Even for something as exciting as Quidditch."

"You don't want to date him because you're afraid he'll be a shoddy father?" Harry asked, looking sceptical, "I know Oliver's intense, Hermione, but he'd never turn his back on his family. Not even for Quidditch."

"No, he wouldn't," Hermione agreed, "Which is what makes him such a great man. But Harry, I would never - _could_ never - ask him to sacrifice his happiness and something he enjoys more than anything else on the planet. Not for anything. Not for me. Not for my children. Not for the whole world. In that regard, Oliver and I are too similar. Were something like that to ever happen, he'd skip the game, he'd put on a brave face about feeling bad over it, and he'd do his duty. But I'd know that deep down that he resented having to skip the game. He'd resent that I would ask. He'd never voice it – unless it became a regular thing – but he'd still resent it in secret."

"What makes you so sure?" Harry wanted to know.

"Because if he asked me to skip my research when I was on the verge of a breakthrough, or if he interrupted with something when I was in the middle of the biggest discovery of my career, I know I'd resent it. I'd grin and bear it. But I'd be a bit resentful about it," Hermione admitted, "In that way Oliver and I having separate interests, separate things we're passionate about, is a hindrance. The rest of the time it's marvellous. He has his own interest, I have mine, and some of them overlap enough that we get along brilliantly. But so much passion in one relationship for different things dooms it to failure. It's well and good now, while we're young and free to pursue our dreams, but what about later?"

Hermione took another drink from her coffee.

"What about when the kids are in Hogwarts and he's getting on a bit – when he should probably retire from the game? If there's one thing I know about Oliver Wood, more than anything else, it's that he'll die on a broomstick. Were he capable of still playing a hundred years from now, I don't doubt he would do so. And I adore that, Harry. I really do. But the true tragedy is that a hundred years from now – heck, maybe twenty years from now – the newer, younger players will be better than him. Faster. Stronger. Still able to see the bludgers coming. Not that he'll lose his eyesight in twenty years, but you catch my drift. The beauty of sport is that great people do extraordinary things. And the tragedy of it is that after a little while, as they age a bit, it stops being so extraordinary and begins to be just ordinary. And then it gets to be a bit dismal. And at the end – if those players hang on too tight, if they refuse to let it go – then it gets pathetic."

Harry's jaw clenched and Hermione saw the tiniest sparkle in his eyes as though her words had touched him on a personal level.

"Now most people, in those instances, they're sad to let it go, but they retire, they find something else to do and they get on with life…" Hermione sighed heavily, "That path is not Oliver Wood's future. Oh, it could be. Very easily. But I don't believe it will be. He could retire one day, take up coaching and push his team to be the best the world has ever seen… but he won't. He'll die in a match or at training one day. Broom in his hands, a smile on his handsome face and with the happiness of flying singing in his heart. And it will be a tragedy. They'll name a stadium or a broom or a Quidditch tactic after him and he'll be remembered in some way for years to come. But Harry… if he doesn't…. that will be an even bigger tragedy."

Harry stared at her in silence for a few long minutes and Hermione could tell that like her, he was fighting tears as he realised the truth of her words.

"Bloody hell, Hermione," he sighed, taking off his glasses and scrubbing a hand over his face, "You've thought about this in depth. This isn't some spur of the moment decision for you."

Hermione sighed again, drinking more of her coffee.

"I have," she agreed, "It's who I am. You know that. I think. I analyse. And that was the conclusion I came to. Don't get me wrong, Harry. I adore him. After what you said the other night when you asked me if I was enamoured with him I started really thinking about it. And I love him."

"But you're going to break up with him?" Harry asked, frowning now.

"I am," she nodded solemnly.

"Why?" Harry frowned at her.

"Because I love him too much to put him through that scenario I just described or any other like it. Oliver needs the type of woman who understands all the Quidditch terminology he uses," Hermione told him.

"You understand it," Harry pointed out, "Don't pretend you don't. I know you understand it all because you hate not knowing things. You've known since first year about all things Quiddtich related, including all the terms for the manoeuvres and tactics. You just pretend you don't because you find it boring."

"I didn't say I didn't understand them, Harry," Hermione told him, "Oliver needs someone who understands them and is as interested in them as you are or as Ginny is. I'm not. I enjoy watching the game sometimes. I don't mind discussing it occasionally, but it doesn't hold my attention the way the inner workings of the dragon lymphatic system does, for example. Oliver needs someone who can talk Quidditch with him all day, distract him from it occasionally and be enthusiastic for every game. He needs someone from the league, actually. A woman who plays that will one day retire but will still love it as much as he does."

"You mean to set him up with one of the Harpies, don't you?" Harry smiled at her gently.

"I might," Hermione smiled, "I want him to be happy, Harry."

"You make him happy," Harry argued

"No," Hermione smiled then, "My ability to understand and tolerate incessant Quidditch talk and my willingness to shag him silly make him happy. My passion for magical creatures and everything related to them bores him."

"I'm sure it's only when you give long-winded explanations of their inner workings," Harry assured her, "You're not boring Hermione. Just… intense at times. Like Oliver is about Quidditch."

"Yes, but that's not really the point, is it? Differing interests and different passions are important to any relationship. But eventually there will come a time when Oliver needs a girl who'll look after his kids and do whatever she feels like or can find to get by with money-wise. Someone who won't go gallivanting across the world to study some magical creature when he's got an important game on. Harry, he needs someone willing to put his dream first. And I could do it. But I'm not going to because I know that eventually I would curse him for it."

"That scenario you gave me wasn't about the kids at all, was it?" Harry asked, a lopsided grin on his face, "That would be a factor, but when it really boils down to it, if you had to choose between some exciting research venture or going with Oliver to the world cup – you'd take the research. Every time."

"And he would take the world cup. Every time," Hermione nodded, "And I wouldn't have it any other way. But it makes us incompatible."

Harry was nodding slowly before a soft sound came from behind her and Hermione closed her eyes slowly. Harry's expression of horror suggested he had no idea they'd been eavesdropped upon either, but Hermione could tell it was the case.

"Does a bit," Oliver's voice came from the door behind her, "Doesn't it?"

Spinning quickly to look at him, Hermione took in the sight of her sort-of boyfriend. Dressed in his training gear from his long morning training session with Puddlemere, he looked windswept and sexy as all get out. And he also looked rather resigned to the argument she'd made. Behind him, Ginny was loitering in the doorway, clearly also having heard the conversation between Harry and Hermione.

Hermione stared at the pair of them guiltily. At Oliver because it was a conversation she ought to have had with him face-to-face, rather than simply with a friend while he eavesdropped. And at Ginny because the witch was clearly hurt that Hermione had discussed it with Harry instead of her.

"Olly," Hermione said softly, moving towards him. He had his hands in his pockets, his gaze steady as he looked at her from the doorway. He didn't look angry with her. Just resigned, "Did you hear all of that?"

"Pretty much," he nodded solemnly, "You love me, eh?"

Hermione gave him a sad smile, realising he was hurt over this but that he understood where she was coming from.

"I do, in fact," Hermione nodded in return, "Too much to let what we have between us transform into something painful and ugly."

"I'd like to prove you wrong," he told her quietly, reaching one arm out towards her. Hermione took his hand and let him tug her closer to him until she was pressed against his chest, "But then I remembered that you're never wrong."

Hermione felt tears well up in her eyes. She felt horrible for them. She didn't deserve the right to be sad. Not when she'd gone off and gotten herself married to someone she barely knew and shagged that someone repeatedly while she'd been seeing Oliver. They might not have been to the point where they were technically an official, exclusive couple yet, but she'd certainly known things had been heading in that direction. In all honesty, Hermione had intended to keep letting them head in that direction. Until she'd found herself married.

Since then, Hermione had done some very serious thinking about her relationship with Oliver, her relationship with Draco Malfoy and even her relationship with Ron. And she'd come to three conclusions. The first was that she was no longer in love with Ron. She had realised it rather suddenly, in fact. She wasn't in love with him and she hadn't been for a long time. She was simply still hurt over the way their relationship had ended because she felt like he'd betrayed her. But she wasn't in love with the man and as such she found that was truly happy that he'd found and married Camilla.

The second realisation had been that she was in love with Oliver Wood. She truly did enjoy everything about him, from the incessant Quidditch chatter – which had grown to be quite endearing rather than annoying - all the way down to the fact that he had no clue about or interest in many of the creatures she spent her days researching and studying. He was funny, kind, warm-hearted, happy and a genuinely good man with an extreme passion for Quidditch. He was the type of man she had one day imagined she would marry, in fact.

But an in depth examination of her feelings for the man had brought her to the conclusion that his passion trumped hers and that if she were to stay with him – to make a real go of things with him – she would end up giving up on her own dreams to accommodate for his. She knew she would. For some time she had pondered that notion, and whether or not it made her selfish to break up with him over it. It was, a little, if she was to be completely honest. She would prefer to sacrifice their happiness together now for the sake of their individual dreams than to try and make it work anyway and have both the dreams and the happiness suffer in the long run.

It had been a difficult decision, but one she had made nonetheless.

The third conclusion Hermione had come to was that Draco Malfoy was trouble. He was also her husband. Unknowingly. And she didn't really know what to do about that. One of the contributing factors regarding ending things with Oliver hinged on the fact that she was legally married to Malfoy. She couldn't hide it forever. She knew eventually her friends, her lovers or someone else would discover the tattoo he'd left upon her skin as his symbol of ownership. If she was reading the fine-print on their marriage contract properly she also suspected that attempts at marrying anyone else would be useless. That was why Draco had insisted on the contract they'd chosen and the symbols of ownership they'd used. Because they were damn near impossible to undo.

She was essentially married to a man that had no clue of the fact. A man who was engaged to another woman. A man she had to work with every day for the next few months in very close quarters. One she had a torrid sexual history with that currently needed to be put on hold because his father was a meddlesome prat. A man whose morning coffee from Cindy was stilling sitting under a stasis charm on Harry's desk, waiting to be delivered to Malfoy so he could brief her on their mission and grill her about her use of a memory potion she never should have spoken about in front of him.

"Sometimes I wish I were wrong occasionally," Hermione sighed into Oliver's collarbone, breathing in the scent of him. Oliver always smelled heavily of a citrus and spice antiperspirant, sweat, and the fresh English breeze because he was almost always on his broom and training.

"Me too," Oliver replied into her hair, wrapped her into a tight embrace, his other hand leaving his pocket to smooth down her back, "I love you too, you know?"

Hermione nodded against his shoulder. Yes. She knew he loved her. She was too smart not to. He would never go fishing for information about her feelings from Harry if he didn't love her.

"I know," Hermione sighed, "But you'll love me more in the long run if we end things now."

"Probably," Oliver agreed with her, before he snorted suddenly, "Now I know how Krum feels."

"What?" Hermione asked, pulling back from his suddenly.

"When we played the Bulgarians in the international league a few months back, he was asking after you because he'd read in one of the papers that we were seeing each other," Olly grinned at her, "He muttered something to me about the fact that I'd end up rueing the day I met you because you'd break my heart and wreck me for everyone else."

"Viktor said that?" Hermione asked, laughing, "He was probably trying to deter you from dating me. Every time I see him or write to him he hints at the idea of us getting back together."

"Maybe," Olly agreed with her, "But I don't know. He might've been right. It's rather disarming to date a woman much smarter than oneself. Especially one who can rationalise to herself, and more importantly to me, about all the reasons that continuing to date might be a bad idea. Did he fight you on it when you broke up with him?"

"Yes," Hermione admitted, "But only because he's stubborn and argumentative."

"I can be stubborn," Olly informed her seriously.

"Not with me," Hermione grinned at him, "Your stubbornness lives in front of the goal posts when you stubbornly refuse to let Bludgers knock you off your broom. Or when you stubbornly continuing to play despite having broken bones that need seeing to or a cracked skull to contend with."

"True," he grinned sheepishly, "Do you really think I'll die on the pitch?"

"Yes," Hermione told him seriously.

"If I quit the game, would you keep dating me?" he asked, and Hermione blinked at him seriously, realising with a jolt that he was thinking about doing just that. She hadn't counted on him loving her that much.

"No, I wouldn't," Hermione answered truthfully.

"You're just determined to break up with me, aren't you?" he asked, a teasing lilt in his accented voice that made her realise he was a little bit hurt over this, but would get over it and wanted to keep being friends with her.

"I'm determined to make sure you're happy. And quitting the game would make you the farthest thing from happy," Hermione informed him while Ginny squeezed past them and into Harry's office so she could kiss her husband, clearly growing uncomfortable with their conversation.

"Being with you might make up for it," Oliver argued softly, smiling at her widely now. Hermione knew he meant that, despite the teasing expression in his eyes.

"You only say that because you think I'm delightful in bed _before_ and _after_ you have practice or a big game," Hermione informed his in a whisper before pursing her lips.

He laughed then. His head tipping back as he laughed out loud. When he stopped, Oliver dropped a kiss to the top of her head and squeezed her into another warm embrace that made her heart melt just a little bit. She really did love him and she was loathe to admit their relationship was at its end.

"Promise me you won't be one of those girls I've dated in the past who gets all funny when she sees me?" Oliver asked her seriously, his lips close to her ear as he held her in the doorway.

"I promise. If I did that it would make setting you up with one of Ginny's teammates awkward and strange. Besides, you were made an honourary Weasley. You're expected at all family celebrations and Sunday lunches with the rest of us," Hermione informed him, grinning cheekily.

"I'm still invited even if I'm not dating you?" he asked, surprised.

"You're part of the family now, Olly," Ginny told him from Harry's desk, "Even if you do play for a rotten team."

"Listen, Harpy," Oliver began, "Just because we beat your lot in the league last year doesn't mean you can be a sore loser."

"A sore loser!" Ginny protested, "Your lot only won because Mullens hit Stacey with that bludger and knocked her out."

"Hey, I've lived through being hit like that. My team still pull through and won the game," Oliver smirked, winking subtly at Hermione. He loved riling Ginny about Quidditch. If she weren't happily married to Harry, Hermione would have put the two of them together in a heartbeat.

"That was when Harry was playing for Gryffindor team at Hogwarts!" Ginny protested.

"It's not my fault an eleven year old Potter is better than your seeker," Olly shrugged at her unrepentantly and Harry grinned widely at the praise, winking at Olly from behind Ginny – who had taken a seat on Harry's lap.

Ginny harrumphed in annoyance, not willing to badmouth her teammate but not wanting to make Harry feel inadequate for something he'd done fifteen years ago. Oliver smirked at her unwillingness to stick to her guns on the subject and turned his attention back to Hermione.

"I don't want to break up with you," he informed her, still smiling, "I don't think I can."

Hermione smiled at him in return.

"You don't have a choice," she told him, "Now shut up and kiss me goodbye as your girlfriend."

"One last time for the road?" he asked, raising one eyebrow and Hermione nodded her head before she went up on her toes and kissed his lips softly. He snogged her soundly until Harry cleared his throat from his desk, clearly disapproving of the way Oliver's hands slid down to cup Hermione's behind, pressing her even closer to him.

"I don't suppose you'd be interested in one last turn in the sheets?" Olly whispered in her ear when he broke their kiss and Hermione laughed out loud.

"You're incorrigible," Hermione informed him.

Oliver nodded his head, grinning cheekily in agreement.

"I really don't want to let you go, Hermione," he told her, "The very idea is making me feel sick to my stomach."

"But you will," Hermione said softly, "Its better this way. We can be friends the rest of our lives rather than ending up bitter enemies."

"Too smart for everyone else's happiness," he accused her softly, "That's what you are, love. Too clever. One day some man's going to come along whom you can't outsmart and can't talk out of being with you. You'll marry him. And the rest of us that you've left behind will settle on lovely little witches that will never quite measure up to you."

Hermione blinked at him in surprise over his sincerity as he declared that.

"You ruin men, Hermione Granger," Olly told her, "Those of us who have the fortune of dating you are ruined for all other women."

With that said he snogged her once more, his lips dipping to capture hers hungrily, his tongue stroking hers surely and Hermione could feel his resonating farewell in his kiss. When he pulled away he gave her an almost tortured but resigned look, kissed her forehead and left the office without looking back.


	9. Chapter 8

**A/N: I'm so pleased the change in summary has enticed a few more of you into reading this one. Thanks so much for all the reviews you guys have been giving me. You're all so sweet. Much love! xx-Kitten.**

* * *

 **The Silver Dragon**

 _By Kittenshift17_

* * *

 **Chapter 8**

* * *

The witch knew. She'd done something; taken something; and she remembered everything they'd done the night he'd gotten his tattoo. Draco glared at his desk where he'd been sitting in shock since she'd stalked off to have an argument with Potter. She had lied to him. She'd looked him right in the eye and told him she didn't remember. Unless she'd taken the potion after he'd drilled her with questions about it.

He doubted that, somehow. If she had access to such a potion that could return her memory to her, she'd have taken it immediately. She wouldn't have wanted to risk not knowing what she'd done the night before and whether or not she'd made a fool of herself at Weaselbee's wedding. She wasn't the type to have access to information and not put it to use.

Meaning the little bitch had lied to him. Draco narrowed his eyes as he glared at his desk. He was going to have to find out what she knew. Clearly she knew something about why he'd woken up with a tattoo and she wasn't sharing. He also didn't have the opportunity to get her alone and fuck the information out of her. Not with his father sniffing around. Even after he'd taken her home yesterday, Lucius had been sniffing around.

He'd taken wild stabs in the dark that Draco was shagging Granger. Draco hoped his immediate recoil and disgusted expression had sold the man on that notion being a horrid one. It was a lie. Draco fucking lived for the nights he fucked that wild little mudblood. He had little else to live for. Sure, he enjoyed his job and it was actually interesting for a change, but everything he enjoyed had gone to hell when he'd been forced to get engaged.

He couldn't fuck around as much anymore. He couldn't get away with going out his Blaise and Theo, because they encouraged him to fuck around, and he couldn't get into mischief because he'd lose his job. Not that he needed the money. He just needed any excuse to get out of the Manor and away from the constant posturing and bullshit of pureblood society. He didn't have the stomach for it anymore. Not when he had to put up with Astoria.

"Merlin, I don't know how you stand this disgusting stuff!" the simpering voice of the very woman he loathed with such passion suddenly interrupted his musing about how best to lure information out of Granger. Draco's head snapped up with a groan just in time to see Astoria Greengrass make a disgusted face as she forced down the mouthful of hot chocolate Cindy had made for her.

She tossed the rest of the full cup into the trash bin by Finnigan's desk, looking unrepentant when the top came off and splashed liquid on the carpet.

"What are you doing here?" Draco asked his fiancé coldly, closing the file he'd been musing over, his hip still propped against his desk where he hadn't moved since Granger had left.

"Am I not entitled to visit my fiancé?" Astoria asked innocently with the sweet smile of a wicked siren. She sought to lure him in and kill him, dashing him against the rocks until his ship sank and he was nothing but an empty, desolate shell of what he had been. Draco loathed her so much that he'd willingly use the Killing Curse on her if could get away with it.

"Not without a decent reason," Draco retorted in a cold, sneering drawl, "You're not authorised to be in the MLE without clearance. You know that."

"Details," she waved his taloned fingers dismissively, "I've not seen you in days, Draco, darling. How are you?"

She smiled widely at him again, that evil, false smile that suggested innocence and belied her viper's soul.

"I was doing fine until you arrived," he muttered under his breath, looking around the office for a distraction.

His eyes lit on the sight of Granger snogging Wood in the doorway of Potter's office before the Quidditch player pulled away from her and left without another word. The slightly wistful expression on Granger's face and Wood's stiff posture as he retreated made Draco think she'd just broken up with him. That was bold. The Quidditch player had seemed perfect for her, if Draco was being honest. He didn't know either of them well, but the conversations he'd overheard between Potter and Weasley suggested they'd been a good match.

Each had their own passions but enough interest in the other to click well, apparently. Yet she'd broken up with him. She had said in the meeting yesterday that she would, but Draco had assumed she was just taunting Potter with threats involving the man's wife. Seemed she hadn't been kidding. Draco wondered about that too.

"I've been fine, Astoria," Draco told his fiancé, turning back to her when Granger disappeared into Potter's office once more, "And you?"

"Very well," she smiled, "I had my nails done with Daphne yesterday, and I overheard the most interesting conversation between Amelia Urqart and Gretchen Goyle. Did you know that Theodore Nott was spotted snogging Luna Lovegood at Ron Weasley's wedding to that Mudblood? I didn't even know Theodore had been invited."

"Theo was there," Draco nodded his head.

"You say that as though you were as well," Astoria replied evenly, her blue eyes hardening as she held his gaze.

"I was," Draco smirked at her, "Weasley is a colleague, you see. It's polite to invite colleagues to such things."

"You went to that blood traitor's wedding and you didn't even tell me?" Astoria hissed, leaning towards him, her eyes sparkling with fury.

"Did you imagine I'd be interested in listening to you hiss venom and drip simpering bullshit all night? Of course I went without telling you. If I'd told you, I'd have had to invite you. And I didn't want to invite you."

"You…" she looked utterly shocked by his cold reply and Draco realised with a start that the woman had clearly bought his act of believing she was the love of his life. It was clear she was unaccustomed to his cold treatment, despite his slip-ups in the past, and that she believed him in love with her. The fool.

"You didn't… want me?" Astoria asked in a hurt voice, feigning despair over his proclamation.

"This is for you," Granger's voice suddenly interrupted and Draco looked down to see a tall mug of coffee with his initial on the top being thrust in his direction from the far side of his desk.

"You got me a coffee?" Draco asked the woman, smirking at her a little and pleased for the distraction from Astoria.

"Don't be ridiculous," Granger rolled her eyes, "Cindy sends you her regards. She made me bring Harry something too. I'm sure it's her subtle way of preparing you both for dealing with me."

"What are _you_ doing here?" Astoria demanded, her tone of voice suggesting utter disgust at the sight of the curly-haired mudblood.

"I believe, Astoria, that the more pertinent question is, what are _you_ doing here? You haven't the clearance to be in this section of the Ministry," Granger drawled in return and Draco marvelled at her ability to sound so like his own father, polite, yet so utterly scornful that meaning could not be mistaken.

"I'm visiting my fiancé," Astoria retorted snootily, "You've no business in the Magical Law Enforcement department. Don't you spend your days scuttling after house elves and measuring them? What are you doing up here? Have they finally begun prosecuting people for having such unfortunate lack of style?"

She sounded so disdainful of the notion that Draco's fist tightened on his take-away mug of coffee as he brought it to his lips. He didn't know when he'd begun feeling protective of the little mudblood; _his_ mudblood; but he suspected it was another of those niggling little indicators that he was getting attached to her. Therefore it needed to be squashed.

"Oh, didn't Draco tell you?" Granger practically purred, and Draco's head snapped up at her use of his first name, his eyes widening when he noticed that she wore an expression very much akin to the cat who got the canary, "Hmmm? No, I suppose he wouldn't share such things with you, would he? I wonder what else Draco doesn't share with you. Don't worry, I'm sure it's only because you don't have the proper clearance."

Astoria spun on him like a jealous, paranoid little snit so fast her loose long hair nearly whipped his face.

"What is she referring to Draco?" she demanded and Draco wondered if the little bitch knew that Granger had already won. Something that became evident when she picked up the file on his desk that Draco had been musing over, strolled around his desk and dropped into his office chair as though she belonged there. She seemed content to let them argue over her head, propping her booted feet up in the edge of his desk and bouncing the balls of her feet there, causing the chair to swing backwards.

"She's right," Draco shrugged, "You don't have the clearance to know what she's doing here. Only the Minister for magic and a select few others have that privilege."

Draco shifted slightly where he still sat upon his desk, hooking his calf muscle around the swinging chair leg nearest to him as he saw Astoria's eyes narrow hatefully on the witch swinging on it. He'd never detected any animosity between his fiancé and his mistress before, but it was clear suddenly that neither woman liked the other. Astoria as a result of Granger being a mudblood and being smarter than her, of course. Granger, on the other hand, had always seemed perfectly tolerant of Astoria. She'd always been polite, anyway.

"She's here on Ministry business? Bringing you coffee? And reading your files?" Astoria demanded, "She's got her filthy little mudblood feet on your desk!"

Draco opened his mouth to retort but Granger beat him to it.

"Oh don't worry, Astoria, dear. By the time I'm through with Draco, I'll have done a lot more than put my feet on his desk," she told the furious pureblood witch without looking up from the file she was reading intently.

Astoria emitted a screech of fury at Granger's words – an entirely un-Slytherin-like display of rage, if ever there was one – before she shoved harshly at Granger's shoulder where the other witch swung on Draco's chair. One of Granger's feet shifted from the edge of his desk to hook under it, preventing herself from falling backwards, but Draco's calf-muscle wrapped around the chair leg did the rest, preventing it from toppling backwards when Astoria pushed her too hard.

Granger's head didn't even lift from the file she was reading when Astoria made to stalk away as though she'd never shoved the muggle-born, clearly anticipating a shout of surprise and Granger ending up on the floor. Not that it stopped her from threatening the other woman.

"Bitch if you ever lay one of those disgusting talons on me again it will be the last thing you ever do," Granger spat, hexing Astoria from behind with such subtlety that, had Draco not been watching, he'd never have known it was her fault when Astoria tripped and fell right into the trash can where she'd earlier discarded her hot chocolate. The fact that she was dressed in white cashmere was most unfortunate.

Astoria gave a cry of alarm as she tripped, looking very much like she'd fallen from one of her stiletto heels. Draco hid his smirk when he noticed that, technically, she had. The heel on her left shoe had snapped clean off. There was every chance it actually could have been an accident. At least there was had Draco not spotted Granger slipping her wand back into her coat pocket without looking up from the file she read. Fuck he wanted to shag her right then.

"I broke a heel!" Astoria was crying in alarm, not yet aware of the brown hot chocolate stain marring her white coat, "Draco, did you see what she did? The mudblood pushed me."

"She did not," he rolled his eyes, stepping around Granger – and trailing his fingers ever so lightly up her arm as he rounded her chair, "I'd have seen her. Now stop making such a spectacle of yourself."

He reached down and hauled the pathetic little witch to her feet. He sighed in frustration when she threw herself against his chest as though she were some delicate flower, crying over her broken shoe.

"You're making a scene," he informed her after a moment of impatience, "It's just a shoe. And you're a witch. A simple repair charm will fix it."

Astoria sniffled pathetically and Draco grew bored. How could one woman be so annoyingly needy and pathetic? Did she imagine it was attractive? Did she delude herself into thinking he cared about her hurt feelings? Pulling out his own wand, he repaired her shoe for her and pried her off him.

"What's the ruckus out here?" Potter wanted to know, glaring in their direction from his office doorway.

"She hexed me!" Astoria cried, pointing at Granger. Granger didn't bother to look up, still reading the file as though nothing were happening. Draco kind of liked that. He also expected from the way Potter glanced at Granger, that he might believe it. Those green eyes behind his spectacles narrowed slightly on Hermione and Draco realised with a jolt that he fully suspected Granger had done it, and he was going to let her get away with it. That alone told Draco everything he needed to know about their friendship. Potter knew Granger had a vindictive streak and impeccable acting skills. And knew she could act well enough that by the end of this altercation, everyone would think Granger was an innocent little flower and Astoria was an attention-seeking menace.

Draco could tell that Potter believed she'd hexed the other woman without at all looking incriminating.

"She's not even paying attention," Seamus argued on behalf of Granger, having not seen the entire incident but simply observing Granger's behaviour, "You Slytherins have no understanding of Hermione's ability to drown out her surroundings when she's reading. She probably doesn't even know you broke a heel and fell over."

"Malfoy?" Potter asked, raising his eyebrows questioningly. Draco knew he was looking for a reliable explanation. He could also tell that Potter was pissed about Astoria being there. Draco wondered how many more of his colleagues and the people he interacted with were secretly harbouring dislike for his fiancé. More importantly, how many of them still secretly harboured distaste for Draco himself?

"Astoria's heel broke when she turned too quickly," Draco offered with a straight face for his boss. He wanted to roll his eyes over the notion of Potter even being his boss.

"She threatened me!" Astoria cried, playing the victim and pointing dramatically at Granegr, "She told me it would be the last thing I ever did if I touched her again."

"You touched her?" Potter asked, strolling closer with a gait that belied his sudden sharp and dangerous mood, "Miss Greengrass, it's against the law to assault MLE agents. That includes laying a single finger or wand upon them without express permission or very good reason."

"I… she…" Astoria began and Draco watched as drama unfolded around Hermione Granger in slow motion with all the effectiveness of a Malfoy-orchestrated fall from grace for someone she deemed lesser than herself. Were Lucius there, he would be impressed.

As Potter began his inquisition, Draco caught movement out of the corner of his eye. Glancing at Granger, he spotted her using wandless magic – the file still clutched in one hand while the other controlled a quill that began scrawling across a piece of report paper. He raised his eyebrows, wondering if she was taking notes about the notes he already had in the file she was reading.

"Did you touch Miss Granger, Miss Greengrass?" Potter asked her seriously, striding closer, his expression grave, "Did you lay a hand on her?"

"She taunted me!" Astoria protested, "She suggested she was going to lay her filthy mudblood hands on my fiancé!"

"Miss Greengrass, the word 'mudblood' has been outlawed since Voldemort's demise. I'm afraid I'm going to have to charge you with slander and assault of an MLE agent," Potter went on, "Not to mention trespassing in MLE departmental offices where you have no clearance or permission to be. Which I do believe you've been warned about. More than once."

Draco watched his fiancé's pretty face blanch of all colour at Potter's charges. Admittedly, he was right. All three things were punishable offences and the bitch had tried to embarrass Granger after insulting the hell out of her. And there wasn't much Draco could do to help her out of this mess, even if he were inclined to do so. Which he wasn't.

"Draco?" she asked, turning to him as though expecting him to do something about it.

"I warned you that you didn't have clearance to be here," he told her seriously, watching her with his arms crossed over his chest, "I told you that you weren't to visit me at the office. That you would get yourself and I into some trouble if you kept it up. There's nothing I can do to help you, Astoria, if you willingly break the law in the middle of the Law Enforcement offices at the Ministry."

"But she…" Astoria began to protest.

" _She_ has permission to be here," Potter interrupted, pulling out his pair of handcuffs as though he legitimately meant to detain Astoria, " _She_ is an MLE agent. _You_ ought to have known better, Ms Greengrass. I'm afraid I'm going to have to book you for your misdemeanours. Will you come quietly, or will these be required?"

Potter dangled his handcuffs from the tip of his finger. His face remained entirely stern and free of all jests. He was utterly serious, Draco could see.

"You can't be serious?" Astoria exclaimed, "I'm in the office to visit my fiancé and this woman suggested that she was going to steal him from me!"

"Stop. Just stop," Draco shook his head at the naïve little fool, "You're only making things worse with every extra word that comes out of your mouth. Go with Potter. Now. And don't visit me at the office again or assault an MLE agent."

Astoria's eyes widened at his words, realising he really wasn't going to do anything to help her avoid being arrested and charged for slander, assault and trespass. Realising she was actually somewhat in some trouble, Astoria narrowed her eyes furiously on him for a moment before shooting a glare at Granger – who was doing a remarkable job of ignoring her surroundings and the drama that was unfolding without even a smug expression. Her fingers danced easily across the report paper she was still controlling the quill to scrawl across. All whilst still swinging on his office chair. With her little feet up on his desk. And his file under her nose.

"Fine," Astoria bit out angrily, "Where do you need me to go?"

"Right this way, Miss Greengrass. I'm afraid we'll be required to detain you until your charges are filed and properly processed. Mullens, take her to lock up, would you please?" Potter said seriously, never once looking like he was joking or like he was enjoying himself.

Astoria was led away to be charged and Draco watched her go. No doubt he would hear about this mess later, but it served the little snot right. He'd told her a number of times that she wasn't allowed to turn up at his office and that she needed to control her temper. The fact that Granger was merely better at doing so was just one more point in her favour.

"Did you really just let your own fiancé get arrested for visiting you at work?" Seamus asked, coming over to stand beside him in the hallway and aiming his wand to clean up the mess on the carpet where Astoria's hot drink had splashed. Draco watched the blonde woman walk away with nasty-looking brown stains marring her white cashmere clock.

"Far be it from me, Finnigan, to interfere with the law. Especially when the Head of the Department is the one doing the arresting," Draco shrugged, trying his best to hide his smirk, "I've warned her plenty of times to keep out of my job. And to keep her petty temper to herself."

"You alright, Hermione?" Seamus asked.

"Oh please, Seamus," Granger glanced up and rolled her eyes, "I'm fine. Harry?"

"Yes, Hermione?" Potter asked, glancing towards her.

"You'll be needing this to properly book her, I believe?" Granger said, picking up the report paper she'd been scrawling on. Draco glanced down at the neat writing across the paper and realised it was an incident report from her on what had just happened. Scanning it quickly, Draco realised she didn't even have to lie about what had happened to get his fiancé charged.

"You've already done an incident report?" Potter asked, "I've barely just detained her."

"I'm nothing Harry Potter, if not efficient. You know that," Granger told him, smiling widely.

"Right. Malfoy, I'm going to need an incident report from you about this as well," Potter told him, hiding a smile of his own, "Sorry about this – I know she's your fiancé and all, but she really isn't allowed to be here. Not when this smuggling ring could have leaks anywhere."

"And I presume that Wood and your own wife couldn't possibly be considered to also have been trespassing?" Draco drawled, realising it was his duty to actually defend the woman he loathed and to make it seem like he was put out over Astoria being detained.

"Actually Ginny's been given the proper clearance. I had her cleared when she wouldn't listen to me about keeping away from me at working," Potter grinned.

"And Wood?"

"Oliver will no longer be visiting me in the office," Granger replied, her nose still stuck in his file, "He also remained in the Head of the department's office, rather than among the desks of you lot. Civilians are allowed to go into Harry's office while he's in without clearance."

"You have an answer for everything, don't you witch?" Draco retorted, playing at the mildly annoyed fiancé for Potter's sake.

"I do, in fact. I have a reputation as a know-it-all that needs to be maintained. When you're done pouting about your fiancé's detainment, I have some note on the case that you should look over before briefing the others."

"Oh I'm others now, Hermione?" Seamus asked from the desk across the way, listening in and looking amused.

"Don't start with me Seamus," Granger warned the Irishman, "Or I'll see how easily I can manipulate you into be arrested as well."

"I'm not stupid enough to pick a fight with you, woman. And you can't get me on trespass or assault," Finnigan retorted.

"Malfoy, I need that report if you want to get Astoria processed and released in a timely fashion. I don't mind leaving her in lock up all day for slandering Hermione," Potter warned him too before strolling away.

Draco honestly didn't care if Astoria rotted in lock up for the rest of her life, but he supposed it would behove him to keep her from entirely losing her nut at him. Draco didn't want to deal with the drama of this incident as it was.

"Move it, Granger. I have report to file on your behalf and you're contaminating my desk with those boots," he told the witch, snatching hold of her legs and lowering them to the ground before hauling her up out of his office chair, "Finnegan, see what you can do about getting Granger a desk would you. I don't want her constantly using mine every time she's here."

Even as he spoke Granger pulled out her wand, aimed it at Draco's desk and began transfiguring it to suit her needs. Meaning she expanded it so that it was as wide as two desks, removed the front that hide his legs from view and instead left another leg sized cut out on the far side as well. She also conjured herself an office chair - one that looked much comfier than the Ministry issue chairs but still less comfortable than the luxury chair Draco had purchased for himself. She proceeded to stroll around the desk, plop into her own chair across from him and continue to read his file. Draco noted too that she was still wiggling her fingers at a piece of parchment nd one of Draco's quills, recording information and ideas.

"One day, Malfoy, you're going to realise that Hermione is profficient at everything and does what she pleases," Finnigan told him, "If you're filling in that incident report for Harry before we handle the mission, I'm getting a coffee."

"You can't just take liberties with my things, Granger," Draco informed the woman dryly.

"What's yours in mine, Malfoy," she replied without looking up and Draco felt a prickle of something across the back of his neck.

"That will go both ways, witch. Be careful who you play this game with," he warned her in return.

"Just write the report to save the bint from being inlock up all day before she drives the entire department batty, would you? It was you that was muttering about needing to get into this mission before they move the meet again," Granger told him.

"That's all you have to say?" Draco demanded of her, already filling in the Incident report for Potter as he spoke to the woman, noticing as he extended his legs under his desk that she was close enough to play footsie with. Draco resisted the urge to the time being.

"Were you hoping for a jovial bid of good morning?" Granger asked, "Because I'm not usually one for that."

"I'm aware," Draco muttered, knowing well from waking up hungover with her that she wasn't much of a morning person. Most mornings she hissed like the devil at being woken up.

She slanted a glance at him and narrowed her eyes slightly, warning against such comments given that they weren't supposed to know each other beyond the occasional shared dance and small-talk of charity functions.

"At some stage," Draco told her in a low voice, "You're going to tell what it is you learned after ingesting toxic memory potion of your own creation after Weasley's wedding."

"Not I'm not," she replied evenly, "What interest could you have in my disorderly shenanigans, Malfoy?"

Draco narrowed his eyes at her in return but refrained from saying more. Instead he focused on his report until it was finished.

"What did you need me to see before meeting with Finnegan and Higgins about the case?" Draco asked her twenty minutes later when the tension at the desk had grown thick and heavy. It was mostly sexual, with the slightest hint of annoyance over their impasse at the current time.

"You're plan on infiltrating the meet was off," Granger informed him bluntly, "It's well and good to assume disguises - if they're believable, bit you were pandering too much to the idea of the ringleaders fancying classy woman. I will not be entering into that place as some prim and proper heiress searching for exotic magical creatures and illicit substances. It draws too much attention. Which we do not need, given who you are and who I am."

Draco held his hand out for her modified infiltration plan, which she handed to him across the desk

Scanning it with his eyes quickly, Draco could see the merit of the plan. Mostly.

"It makes no sense to have Higgins play a well-off witch with proclivities for illegal behaviour," Draco shook his head, "She's not the type to be able to pull it off. Too uptight. It has to be you. You even do have a proclivity for illicit behaviour, if memory serves of our Hogwarts days."

"I"m too prominent in the wizarding community. Even disguised, my mannerisms are well known. They'll be on the lookout for the likes of me. If Higgins plays a curious heiress in the making you and Finnigan are able to play her henchmen - employed by an overprotective father - and I am able to play lady's maid or perhaps the mousy friend. Trust me Malfoy, my strengths lay in the mousy friend route."

"They do not," Seamus piped up, having returned to his desk, "You don't know how to be inconspicuous and you know it. You're witch who commands attention, whether you particularly want it or not, Hermione."

"He's got a point," Draco shrugged at her, "You're not made for submissive wallflower behaviour Granger.

"Which is all the more reason I should play the mousy friend. It frees me from needing to make conversation if people think I'm shy and nervous. It also allows for me to be constantly looking around and catalouging the different creatures on sale without being interrupted while Higgins distracts anyone who approaches. I'll look like a wide-eyed, terrified little swot who might flee at any moment in fear and everyone will dismiss me."

"And you want us to what?" Draco asked, waving a hand at himself and Finnigan.

"Look like shady henchman there to protect the daughter of someone powerful. In other words, try to look like your cronies, rather than yourself, Malfoy," Granger smirked at him, "As bodyguards you have a valid reason to be looking around. As shady henchman you might be prone to striking up a deal or two with vendors and traders to better gauge what they'd we go in today, we won't be seizing anything, though samples will come in handy. This isn't going to be the type of mission where we go in there wands firing and bring down the operation. This is reconnaissance and evidence building."

"You want to go now?" Draco asked her seriously, "You were poisoned an hour ago."

"I'm fine," she waved a dismissive hand at him, "But first we're going to need different clothing. And I'm going to have to alter our appearances."

"This is going to be a nightmare," Seamus sighed, "Just... don't take any patches of hair from me, alright?"

"We're not all you, Seamus. I can cast concealment charms and glamours without losing an eyebrow," she told the Irishman and Draco began to chuckle. This was going to be the longest assignment of his life.


	10. Chapter 9

**A/N: Teehee, your reviews make me laugh so much. I was giggling the whole time when I read the most recent ones from my delightful guest reviewers. I adore such emotional responses from you guys. It lets me know I'm doing something right if I can really rile people up. Now, onto the story. I do hope you giggle and grin throughout this chapter as much as I did while I was writing it =) Much love! xx-Kitten**

* * *

 **The Silver Dragon**

 _By Kittenshift17_

* * *

 **Chapter 9**

* * *

Hermione stood back to admire her handy-work as she assessed her new colleagues. Seamus had been the easiest to alter. Making his hair grow longer and a bit shaggy did wonders at concealing his identity. She'd made his eyebrows a bit bushier, roughed up his clothes a bit to make him look like he hadn't bathed in a few days and caused the stubble on his jaw to grow until it was stubbly looking. His brown hair was already rather forgettable so she'd only had to alter the size of his nose a bit to make him intimidating and shady-seeming, but forgettable.

Higgins had been harder. Draco was right. She was bad at playing an heiress.

Hermione had altered her slightly, making her taller and thinner with some tricky glamour charms. Her long dark hair had been charmed blonde and sleek, her recently-broken nose straightened once more and reshaped with magic to appear as though the tip flared a bit, giving her a haughty look. Resorting to gaudy-seeming clothing of decent calibre had been tricky, but she'd managed it. Hermione had dressed the witch in a pair of heels, a short, summery dress and a big fur coat. Combined with glitzy jewellery she looked like any Hollywood starlet Hermione had seen on her tele lately.

For herself, Hermione had taken to playing at mousy to the extreme. She'd located a knitted green poncho which she had donned. She'd swapped her jeans for a long flowy skirt but kept boots on, and had adopted a pair of glasses that made her look like a librarian – of like Trelawney, if she was being honest. A charm for her hair had made it frizzier even than it grew on a sticky summer afternoon before a storm. She aimed for mousy, but trying to be better. Trying to be fit for the glitzy friend she was tagging after. In all it gave her an air of desperation that made people want to dismiss her as trying too hard and being without hope.

Malfoy was her final project and he was proving tricky.

"I can't take you seriously with your hair like that," he informed her even as Hermione ghosted her fingertips over his pointed chin, blunting it and making him appear more square jawed. He was still smirking - having finally controlled his laughter - as she tapped his nose to flatten it as though he'd been in a few fights, muggle style. She didn't entirely take away his good looks. It would be a good cover that he was interested in Higgins' character and handsome enough to get the attention of an heiress.

"You should see yours," Hermione retorted, reaching up to card her fingers through the silky strands and charming it black as a raven's wing. Smoothing her thumbs over his eyebrows to match their colour to his hair, Hermione transformed him into the epitome of tall, dark and handsome, complete with five o'clock shadow on his jaw.

"You need to change," she informed him, "You look too official in those robes. Take these and put them on."

She handed him a pile of clothes she'd swiped from evidence and nudged him towards the change cubicle the others had already used. He took them with a raised eyebrow but did as she'd instructed.

"You better be kidding with this, Granger," his voice called a few minutes later and Hermione suspected he'd just found the muscle shirt. It was a tight fitting black t-shirt designed to show of the way she'd altered his lean build to make him appear burly and strapping with hard muscle. Paired with fitted black pants, he would look like a thug out of a muggle movie. The sleeves would also curl around between his deltoids and his biceps. Meaning it would show the points of his tattoo where the wings ended on the backs of his arms at his elbows.

"I'm not. Put it on and stop whinging, you're meant to look intimidating, cocky and like you're not to be trifled with," Hermione retorted to him.

"I already did look that way," he relied from behind the wall where he was dressing.

Hermione rolled her eyes at Sarah and Seamus who both grinned at her.

"Oh yes, of course you did," Hermione told him patronisingly.

"I can hear tone," Malfoy warned before pulling open the door to reveal the complete transformation he'd undergone. Hermione popped over in front of him and whispered a glamour charm to make it look like he had more tattoos.

He blinked at her in surprise as she performed the magic to protect against anyone thinking the enormous tattoo on his back was real. Hermione gave him an exaggerated looking design that emphasised the place on his left forearm where his Dark Mark had once been. She also gave him several Ancient Rune tattoos for things like strength, including one on the side of his neck.

"What did you just do?" he asked, looking alarmed when Sarah began to eye him like he was some piece of meat to be devoured.

"Turn around and have a look," Hermione told him, gripping his broad shoulders tightly and spinning him.

"Ooh, what's that one?" Sarah asked, spotting the silver wingtips poking out the bottom of his sleeves.

Hermione watched Malfoy stared into the mirror at the glamour that made him look like he had more tattoos than he actually did before he smirked coldly.

"It's a great big silver dragon," Hermione answered Sarah's question before quirking an eyebrow at Malfoy and tugging on the hem of his shirt, "May I?"

"What have you done?" he feigned ignorance, nodding slightly.

Hermione lifted the back of his shirt to reveal the tail that curved down around his hip and the back legs of the dragon that dug into his lower back. She didn't lift it any higher. The fewer people who knew about the full extent of his tattoo, the better.

"Wow, they even feel real," Sarah gasped, reaching forwards uncharacteristically and brushing her fingers over the tail on Draco's hip. Hermione made a face when the feel of her touching it made Hermione suddenly feel violently ill. Based on the way Malfoy grimaced and stepped away from her touch, causing Hermione to drop his shirt, he felt it too.

"Hands off the merchandise, Higgins," Malfoy drawled, "I'm spoken for."

Hermione bit her lip as she thought about just how spoken for he was and how she didn't at all like anyone else laying their hands on the claiming tattoo she'd left on her husband.

"You alright, Granger?" Malfoy asked her, seeming to spot her reaction to Sarah touching his tattoo – no doubt noticing the way she'd gone a bit pale.

"A little nauseas," Hermione nodded tightly, "Probably the antidote in my system. Let's get going, shall we?"

"Mate, you look bloody ridiculous," Seamus informed Draco as they all set off through the office and towards the Apparation station.

"He looks hot," Sarah disagreed.

"I am always enticing, thank you," Malfoy replied snobbishly, rolling his eyes, "Besides, you two look bloody stupid. You fit the part, but knowing what you have underneath that mess is ruining the effect. I never knew you could look any bloody worse, Finnegan. Then again, at least you don't look like Granger right now."

"Bite me, Malfoy," Hermione retorted evenly, flipping him off over her shoulder.

"I don't eat junk food," he sneered unkindly and Hermione caught the way Seamus stiffened at Malfoy's implication that she was junk.

She also caught the way Malfoy smirked at her and shot her a wink when Seamus and Sarah were both through the Apparation station.

"Quick thinking there Granger," he commented referring to the glamour tattoos and his real one.

"Someone on this team needs to be clever, Malfoy," Hermione replied with a smirk of her own before apparating to the spot they'd agreed on.

Seamus and Sarah were to meet them a few blocks away so as not to arouse suspicion by having them all congregating in the area at once, possibly drawing the attention of muggles. Draco landed beside her a few seconds later and Hermione glanced up at him for a long moment.

"You really do look ridiculous with dark hair," she told him, finding that though he did indeed look handsome in a dangerous kind of way, she preferred his blonde hair and his pointed looks.

"Too attached to my blonde locks, Granger?" he sneered at her.

"I don't get attached to my playthings, Malfoy," Hermione replied.

"Speaking of your playthings," he grinned suddenly before stepping into her and snogging her right on the mouth.

Hermione nearly groaned at the feel of his mouth on hers. Sweet Merlin, no one had a right to kiss so well. And she wasn't supposed to be kissing him, curse it all! They'd agreed that this had to stop. It needed to. Otherwise he was going to see that she had a tattoo very similar to his and he was going to put the pieces together. He was smart. He would quickly come to the assumption that they'd gotten married. And then all hell would break loose.

He pressed her into the wall and Hermione whimpered when he moulded himself against her, thrusting his hips slightly to grind against her.

"We agreed…" Hermione told him breathlessly as he pulled away, "No more."

"I had to thank you for what you did to my fiancé," he replied wickedly, "It was particularly Malfoy of you to put her in her place by letting her do almost all the work to incriminate herself."

Hermione wondered if she looked as alarmed as she felt to be called Malfoy in any sense.

"Even so," Hermione replied, pushing him away and stepping around him, "We agreed there would be no more intimacy between us Malfoy. I can't work with you if I have to worry about your father ruining my reputation when he finds out you've been screwing me. And while I'm not above putting your fiancé in her place, she _is_ your fiancé. Even if she is a bitch, she deserves better than this."

"She does not," he rolled his eyes, "She deserves to be locked up for impersonating a screeching banshee and misrepresenting herself as a human being."

Hermione sighed heavily.

"Draco," she warned, rather unfamiliar with his first name, "Enough. No more. You know all the reasons this can't continue. Don't snog me again unless it's absolutely necessary."

"It was absolutely necessary that I express my happiness over what you did to Astoria," he answered, smiling devilishly.

Hermione rolled her eyes at him and set off in search of Seamus and Sarah, meaning to meet up with them so they could get this mission over. Mentally preparing herself for what was to come, Hermione put her game face on and did her best to forget about everything else for a little while.

"Are we ready to do this?" Sarah asked when they reunited, looping her arm through Hermione's as though they were best girlfriends and Hermione assumed the persona of a dorky, uncoordinated, frumpy best friend to a pretty rich girl.

"Let's go," she nodded, making her voice a little bit ditzy and squeaky.

Sarah led the way, Malfoy and Seamus following close behind and lurking like henchman might. Hermione pretended a fearfulness that wasn't entirely faked as they entered through the small and dingy looking shop selling knick-knacks. The guy behind the counter eyed them suspiciously.

"I heard tell that if one was in the market for something exotic," Sarah said simperingly, batting her eyelashes at the shopkeeper, "That you were the man to see."

"Is that right? And where might you have heard that?" the man sneered, his eyes narrowing as he eyed Malfoy and Seamus.

"A little birdy told me," Sarah grinned, and Malfoy absently reached as though to scratch at something, revealing the remnants of the Dark Mark on his forearm alongside the other fake tattoo work Hermione had done on him. The man noticed it immediately and his eyes widened.

"This way," he said gruffly, leading them through the shop and over and a gilded mirror in one corner, "Step through here and you'll find what you might be looking for."

"Thanks ever so much," Sarah told him with a winning smile before she and Hermione both stepped through the mirror, their arms still looped together.

Hermione pretended to stumble as they went through the doorway into a busy looking basement type tunnel that seemed to be part of the underground system that had been abandoned. Malfoy and Seamus followed and she watched them slip into character as Malfoy snorted in derision when Hermione pretended to stumble right into the nearest vending table.

"Oh I don't think this was a good idea, Becky," she pretended to whine to Sarah as she swiped up a highly illegal species of mushroom and pocketed it under her poncho. She'd worn the frumpy, oversized garment for this reason. It was easy to hide things inside it in the little pouch she'd worn around her waist beneath it.

"Nonsense Lucy," Sarah waved her hand, "I want a Tiger-Drake and Daddy told me this is where I could get one."

A few people trading other things looked over at her arrival. Hermione could see the way they looked first curious and then conniving. It was clear they meant to take advantage of Sarah when they saw her short skirt and ditzy looking appearance.

"But Becky these men look like criminals," Hermione stage whispered, hurrying back over to the other girl and pretending to be scared as she cowered against the girl. She made sure to dart furtive glances at Draco, managing to fit fear, attraction and a hopeless school-girl crush into her expression as though believing whole-heartedly that he would protect them.

Sarah rolled her eyes and didn't deign to answer hr while Hermione's gaze travelled over the many vendors, absorbing every detail. Her photograph memory would come in handy later and she made sure to note the faces and products each vendor was selling.

"'Ere, Miss? You like puppies, Miss?" someone called to Sarah, ignoring Hermione completely. Hermione pinched Sarah, indicating she needed a closer look at those puppies when she spotted the fact that some of them had scaly paws.

"Oh, I love puppies!" Sarah giggled, dashing over and dragging Hermione with her.

Hermione pretended to be afraid as she held her hand out to one tentatively, jerking it back in feigned horror when the puppy tried to lick her with a forked tongue.

"Oh I want one, Lucy! Aren't they darling?" Sarah gushed, picking one up and cuddling it close, letting it lick her neck as though she hadn't noticed its wicked looking fangs that were probably venomous.

"They have forked tongues," Hermione whispered to the girl, "I thought you wanted a Tiger-Drake."

"Oh but you know I can't resists puppies!" Sarah said, "How much for a puppy, sir?"

"Thirty Galleons for that one," the man smirked, revealing a set of broken and brown teeth.

"I'll take her," Sarah announced, handing over the required money to the man and petting the puppy the entire time. If she knew she'd been ripped off – that he'd been selling the rest for ten galleons each, Sarah pretended not to notice.

Malfoy shuffled to one side a little and began muttering to a man selling illicit potions, including Amortentia and what looked like a new recreational potion that was on the market at the moment. It combined the effects of Daydream Charms with Lust potion. Hermione had also heard it contained trace amounts of crystal meth and that it was highly addictive.

"Oooh! Look Lucy! Dragons!" Sarah squealed, handing the puppy she'd just brought off to Hermione and dashing towards a table where a man was selling baby dragons.

Hermione pretended to be horrified by the puppy, holding it furtively while it wagged its little tail at her and tried to lick her. She hurried after Sarah to look at the dragons, her eyes scanning the many breeds with mounting horror.

Some were common enough dragons. Welsh Greens were on sale alongside Horntails and Chinese Fireballs. But the sight of an Antarctic Ice Fang was not a welcome one. They were terribly rare and were part of the reason that the Antarctic hadn't melted yet. This one was only a baby but given the chance to grow to maturity the dragon could plunge Britain back into another ice age.

Other rare breeds were on display too. Amazonian Leaf-Eaters. Zipplebacked Humdingers. Tarovian Blazebreathers and even a Peruvian Vipertooth. Sweet Merlin, Charlie Weasley would have a fit if he could see this!

"Do you have a Tiger-Drake?" Sarah was busy chattering to the vendor, distracting him with questions.

Several other shady looking characters were milling around the busy market place where it seemed literally everything could be bought and sold. House Elves were being traded off in one corner. Potions, ingredients and illicit plant-life were being pedalled in another. And magical creatures were everywhere. Hermione spotted a young centaur fawn hobbled and chained amid a collection of Hinkypunks and a few Blabbering Jaybirds. Eagle owls, hawks and other birds of prey were being sold and there was even a tank with Grindylows and some merepeople held inside.

"Not this time, little lady," the vendor told her, "They're hard to get a hold of. Maybe you'd be interested in this Andovian Spiketail?"

Sarah slipped away from Hermione carefully to inspect the dragon she'd been offered – a cute little dragon in a vivid shade of purple. They didn't grow very large and Hermione knew there had been some trouble recently in parts of Europe where people were buying them as pets for their children only to have them accidentally spike the children and kill them or to have their houses burned to the ground.

Seamus brushed past her as Hermione shuffled slightly towards some of the other dragons on display and Hermione felt his hand slip under her poncho to deposit something inside her pouch. He did it with a sneer, looking like a cruel and lecherous scoundrel as he leered. Hermione pretended to be terrified of him and glanced again towards Malfoy. He smirked wickedly but didn't say anything, letting her know she was on her own as part of the act.

"Stop it," Hermione hissed, pretending fear and outrage over such treatment when Seamus proceeded to stroke a dirty nailed hand over her messy hair and lean into her slightly.

Seamus pretended that while Sarah was busy he would take advantage of her dorky friend and even more people ignored them. Hermione realised it was a tactic. If people thought he was abusing her – people in this crowd – they were more likely to evade their eyes and let it happen than to interfere. Meaning even less people were paying attention to her as Hermione pretended to stumble away from Seamus slightly and snatched up the cage containing the Antarctic Ice Fang dragon baby.

The creature didn't even stir as she slipped it's too-small cage under her poncho and away into her pouch. She was more grateful than ever for her ability to cast undetectable extension charms. Hurrying away from the dragon section and Seamus, pretending outrage and not wanting to be accused of theft from these horrid people, Hermione quickly immersed herself in this dark underworld.

More illegal substances than she'd ever seen were being pedalled here.

"Is this …?" Hermione began to ask a vendor, pretending interest in a Devil's Snare plant in a pot. She trailed off when the merchants ignored her. Seamus was still trailing after her, pretending amusement at her tactics to try and escape him and Hermione knew these people didn't want to be mistaken as assisting her. Seamus looked mean enough – thanks to Hermione's handiwork – that no one wanted to mess with him.

Pocketing several phials of Draught of Living Death that a merchant was foolishly displaying at the edge of an apothecary stand and not paying attention to, Hermione hurried back towards Sarah. She dodged around Seamus, who trailed a yearning hand over her stomach and forced her to squeeze past him when he blocked a pathway. Someone chuckled when she squeaked as though terrified, her eyes wide and fearful behind her glasses. When she reached Sarah, Hermione dodged around behind the girl to where Malfoy was lazily leaning on one of the tables containing several Puffeskins, Pygmy Puffs and what she suspected might be a cross between a Puffeskin and a tortoise.

He was leaning there looing particularly arrogant and Hermione sidled up next to him, pretending to be a love-struck fool interested in her best friend's young and handsome bodyguard. Seamus followed her but stopped when he saw that she was standing close to Malfoy and Hermione enjoyed his acting ability when he instead struck up a conversation with Malfoy about needing to get his hands on some illicit potion ingredients.

To any witnesses it would look as though she was a timid little twit who was being pursued by an older and creepier man. It would also look like she believed Malfoy's character would protect her and like Seamus's character was concerned over being caught outright molesting her by Malfoy.

"What are you, little one?" Hermione whispered, turning her attention from Seamus as though she believed herself safe in Malfoy's presence. Something that seemed confirmed when Malfoy reached out his hand and snatched her fingers back from the Puffeskin that looked like it had been bred with a tortoise, just in time to avoid having the little beast snap its fanged mouth closed on her hand.

The merchant was still trying to woo Sarah into buying an Andovian Spiketail and Sarah looked like she was lapping up the attention as the shady character flirted with her. She also darted glances back towards Malfoy as though she believed she might make him jealous by flirting with the merchant. Malfoy squeezed Hermione's fingers lightly before he released her without saying a word to her.

She realised it was a distraction tactic when she felt his free hand slip under her poncho and drop something else into her pouch there.

"Well that wasn't very nice," Hermione pretended to coo at the Puffetoise chidingly before reaching for it again. It was terribly fluffy – its fur a pretty shade of periwinkle – but it had a tortoise shell with delightful patterns on it. Instead of being leathery of skin like a reptile it was instead fluffy all over but for its shell. Dodging its teeth when it snapped at her again, Hermione picked the little creature up by its shell. The fork tongued puppy she was still clutching under one arm that Sarah had purchased squirmed towards the Puffetoise excitedly, trying to lick it.

Hermione giggled when the Puffetoise withdrew into its shell until only a few tufts of blue fluff were visible inside the shell.

"You want that one?" Malfoy asked in a drawling voice and Hermione looked over at him, still giggling and beaming.

She realised he meant to make it look like he was humouring her as the dorky friend of the woman he was there to protect. She nodded her head emphatically, awarding him an adoring smile that made him smirk just a little wider.

"We need to get going," Seamus muttered as Hermione cooed over the Puffetoise again while the puppy she held squirmed for attention, now trying to escape Hermione's hold to go to Malfoy.

Malfoy reached over and petted the pup a few times as he glanced towards Sarah once more – who was now in the process of buying the Andovian Spiketail after catching a nod from Hermione that she wanted the dragon. Malfoy handed the merchant the seven galleons required for the Puffetoise as well before insisting to Sarah that they get out of there.

Sarah agreed readily enough, already babbling about needing to go shoe shopping to try and find some that would match the colour of the dragon scales on her new 'pet'.

"We can't go back out the way we came in with you two clutching all these animals," Malfoy informed them, "We'll have to apparate."

He offered his hand to Sarah, pretending she was his charge and Hermione gritted her teeth, pretending horror when Seamus chose to wrap both his arms around her waist from behind before he apparated her back to the Ministry.


	11. Chapter 10

**A/N: Hello all. Sorry about the delay. I hope you like the newest chapter. Thanks for all the love you've been throwing my way so far. You're all so lovely. Much love! xx-Kitten.**

* * *

 **The Silver Dragon**

 _By Kittenshift17_

* * *

 **Chapter 10**

* * *

"Ouch!" Granger cried out as they landed back inside the Ministry and Draco glanced towards her to see she'd just been bitten by the puppy they'd rescued.

"Shit!" Seamus hissed when Granger immediately looked like she'd been injected with a tranquiliser. She swayed in his hold and Draco hurried towards her.

"Malfoy?" Potter called, hearing or spotting them as they returned with his best female friend looking like she'd been drugged, "What happened?"

"That pup bit her," Draco said, "You got another one of those antidotes she gave you for emergencies? Pretty sure this little blighter is venomous."

"Give her this," Sarah said, opening the first aid kit she'd pulled out of her desk drawer and handing him a general antivenin designed to work on most things. Draco snatched it out of her hands, pried Granger's lips open and tipped the potion into her mouth.

She groaned, her eyelids fluttering at the immediate effect while Seamus held her upright to keep her from falling to the floor in a heap. Sarah snatched the Puffetoise from Granger while Potter levitated the now agitated canine from her hands.

"Granger?" Draco asked, patting her cheek to get her attention when she groaned again and looked dizzy, "You with us?"

"I hate antivenin potions," she mumbled, "They make me hungry!"

Draco blinked in confusion at the woman, wondering if she'd lost her mind.

"Harry?" she called, spotting Potter even as she stood on her own once more, "I need you to contact the nearest Dragon Handlers. Is Charlie still here?"

"Yeah. Do you need me to get him?"

"Yes, tell him we've got a big problem. Tell him I've got a baby Antarctic Ice Fang that needs immediate attention," Granger said and Draco raised his eyebrows, looking for the dragon she spoke of. Potter looked confused too before Granger ripped the awful Poncho she was wearing off over her head and dug into the pouch she'd stored under it, strapped across her stomach.

He paled slightly when she dug into the thing as though it were much deeper than the foot of space it appeared to have. Immediately he realised she must have used an undetectable extension charm on it and that was how she'd fit so much in there. Something that became clear when she fished out a dragon cage holding a baby dragon the length of Draco's arm and the colour of a glacier. How in the hell had she gotten the entire thing under her poncho and stuffed inside it without being caught?

"Remind me never to take you anywhere with lots of finery and jewels, Granger," he told her, watching as she pulled out a number of other things she'd slipped into the pouch, "Apparently you have sticky fingers and a knack for petty theft."

"Oh as if you didn't slip theses in there?" she retorted, holding up the phials, plants and artefacts he'd managed to swipe or to purchase on his own, "And don't you dare stand there and try to pretend you didn't fill your own pockets too."

Draco smirked, realising she'd been paying closer attention that he'd realised to learn he had also confiscated several other times which he'd slipped into his pockets. He'd only begun using her pouch when he ran out of space in his pockets to hide things. Seamus proceeded to copy him as Draco turned out his pockets.

"Bloody hell, you lot were only gone for half an hour!" Potter exclaimed, watching them unload illicit potions, banned plants and several nasty looking dark artefacts.

"There's a reason this team was hand-picked to the four of us, Potter," Draco reminded the man, "Though I had no idea Granger could fit that much into her bag. Blimey, woman, what did you do? Just sweep entire display stands down the front of your poncho and hope for the best?"

"Don't be ridiculous, that would have been too obvious," she rolled her eyes at him, "It is, however, marvellously easy in that kind of crowd when one is unnoticed to begin with and then purposely ignored, to steal everything in sight. It does suggest that you and Seamus were being lousy lookouts though, so remind me not to trust you in future when I'm doing anything shady."

"Why were people purposely ignoring you?" Harry asked her, frowning, "And what other shady activities do you mean engage in?"

"If I told you that Harry, you'd try to stop me," Granger grinned at the dark haired man. Draco could tell from the look on Potter's face as they continued unloading things they'd all swiped from merchants on their mission that he was envious of the excitement of a mission. Just the other day Potter had been moaning about the fact that being Head of the MLE meant he didn't get to do the exciting case work anymore and it was clearly bothering him.

"You'd tell me anyway. You tell me everything," Potter grinned self-assuredly at Granger and she smiled at him innocently.

Draco smirked to himself. He suspected the number of things she didn't share with Potter could fill several books.

"Of course I would," Granger replied sweetly and Draco wondered how she could be such a Slytherin while appearing so innocent, sweet and charming. She clearly had a lot more going on under the surface that she kept to herself. He'd thought it might only pertain to him and to her feelings of Weasley and his wife. However, as he interacted with her whilst sober for the first time in a long time, Draco found himself surprised by the amount of things he - perhaps everybody - didn't know about Hermione Granger.

He shook his head silently as he turned his attention to cataloguing the evidence they'd swiped while Granger breezed over to her desk and made some notes, swiping more of Draco's resources from his desk.

"Right, I need to begin studying these critters immediately," she was saying, "So I'll be retiring to my lab. Malfoy, I'll drop off my reports on everything from today's mission as soon as they're complete."

With all of that said she collected the Puffetoise, the puppy, both dragons and a number of other creatures she had swiped when no one was looking, levitating them all away through the Ministry. She paused only to peck Potter on the cheek and bid him goodbye before she weaved her way through the rest of the MLE department. Draco watched her stop once more just before she left - right in front of the holding cells. Her cruel smile told him Astoria must still be inside one of them. Unable to see out but entirely on display like an specimen in a zoo as she paced about nervously, alternating between raging against being held for so long, cursing Granger's existence and snarling over the state of her stained coat.

When she was done gloating Granger continued on her way, leaving many muttering MLE agents in her wake as they ducked around the creatures she was transporting.

"She's been poisoned twice today and she's not even concerned," Sarah shook her head, watching Granger go.

"Some days in her work she gets bitten, poisoned or otherwise assaulted upwards of ten times. She's careful, but the creatures she studies are unpredictable," Potter told them, also watching Granger blaze through his department of the Ministry like a frizzy tornado, an affectionate tone in his voice, "I don't envy Hatty, her secretary. Not after she ingested general antivenin. They make her hyper and she gets hungry enough to eat an entire Chinese take-away store out of business. Hatty will be hopping all afternoon to keep Hermione from jumping down someone's throat."

"Should she be taking all those creatures to her lab? They're evidence in a top secret case," Finnigan pointed out, "Anyone in her department could be a spy for this smuggling ring."

"If anyone asks where she got them, she'll make it up. Hermione's always going on field assignments and bringing back new species to study without warning if they involve creatures," Potter shrugged, "Now tell me how everything went. And why do you look so bloody ridiculous, Malfoy?"

"I never look ridiculous, Potter," Draco retorted.

"It went fine. Better than I expected. They're using that location as their British base but when I hinted at being out of the country soon and needing to get my hands on more Lethe whilst abroad the vendor gave the location of a ring operating in Russia and another one in France. Once we've sorted through the paperwork on this I want to start busting known merchants I spotted. I recognised quite a few of those blokes from the Dark Lord's days. If they're into this smuggling ring they'll be into other bad behaviour as well. For the meantime I need you to send some of Arthur Weasley's people on raids into these family residences," Draco began jotting down a list of the names of people he'd recognised.

"Crack down on the borders too. Granger was right about needing people on watch for shady dealings because these smugglers are getting by our checkpoints with a lot of Dark stuff. Whoever is behind this is good, Potter. Like, mole inside the Ministry types of good. I reckon it might be time to do one of those full Ministry screenings for employee associations, backgrounds and everything else. We need to make these folks sweat and pull them up for it. These people aren't in a position we'd look at either. These moles are the drones no one notices. Tea ladies, PAs, second-assistant researchers or something."

Potter nodded in agreement with him, looking serious about the suggestions Draco was making.

"You get the paperwork and everything handled for this case. I'll handle everything else," Potter told him, "I'm going to set up another meeting with Kingsley too, and a few other people. I'll let you know for when, but you'll need to be there."

"Do it after you've screened all employees, if you're touching this case," Draco told him, and Potter nodded.

"I forgot to thank you for cooperating with me this morning to get Hermione better," Potter said as he began strolling away, "Thanks for helping. And for not making a fuss when I arrested Astoria. I know she's you're fiancé, but with this kind of case we just can't afford to have anyone not strictly cleared loitering about. Not near case-sensitive information like the stuff currently coming across your desk."

Draco nodded his head in agreement, not at all caring that Astoria had been arrested. If he was honest, having her arrested might teach her to keep her annoying little nose out of his life. It was bad enough that he had to tolerate her at all of the functions his mother insisted he attend with Astoria on his arm. It was even worse that in a few short months he was going to have to tolerate her on a daily basis when he was married to the bitch. The last thing he wanted was to have her poking about his job and ruining his last few months of freedom with her presence.

Glancing in the direction of the holding cell where she was being detained, Draco smirked to himself before he sat down at his desk and began cataloguing everything they'd collected during the case. A comprehensive list of the things they'd managed to collect would better help him to run down who he might be dealing with.

~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~

"Malfoy?" a voice asked several hours later while Draco was still filing his reports.

He didn't stop scratching away with his quill as he looked up. Arthur Weasley stood before him, eyeing him with distaste as he always did.

"Weasley?" Draco asked and he watched the expression on the man's face change before his gaze swept over Draco as though he didn't believe his eyes.

Draco glanced down at himself before realising he'd become so distracted that he'd forgotten to amend his appearance and his clothing back to his usual style. Meaning he was sitting there in a muscle shirt with several fake tattoos on display, his hair raven black and his face distorted and misshapen into whatever Granger had deemed to be useful to his disguise. Choosing not to comment, he turned his attention back to Weasley Senior to find out what he wanted.

"Erm... Harry said you had a list of people you needed us to investigate?" Weasley asked of him.

"I gave a copy of it to Potter," Draco nodded his head, frowning slightly.

"Oh. He didn't pass it along."

"Right. Of course he didn't," Draco grumbled, grabbing a scrap piece of parchment and scratching out the list again, "They all need to be looked into. Just a standard raid to see if you can uncover anything. Cushion it in past Death Eater ties or whatever you have to, but make sure you search them all. Most will probably be nothing, but with the activity of some former Death Eaters who escaped justice returning to the country, you never know what you might turn up. Get Potter to assign you a few Aurors too. For all I know some of these bastards are hiding with family members or past allies."

"There are a lot of names on here," Weasley commented as he scanned the list, "You suspect all of them?"

"Yes," Draco nodded, "And those that are perhaps not likely to be wrapped up in anything sinister still need to be raided. Potter's doing a big crack down on the entire community at large to try and flush some of the bastards out. The more people on the lookout for shady dealings, the more likely we are to decrease crime."

"I smell Hermione's handiwork," Weasley Senior commented.

Draco nodded once, not in the mood to discuss Granger or the fact that he was in such close contact with her these days. The woman had been infuriating at the best of times in the past, but working with her was going to prove trickier than Draco imagined. The little mudblood was clearly far more chaotic a woman than Draco had originally realised. In the past he'd really only observed her from a distance, noticing that she led a busy life. He'd shagged her a number of times, but until recently he'd not given the woman that much extra thought. She was a distraction and an outlet for his frustrations and nothing more.

Now however, she was his colleague and he'd obviously grown slightly attached to the witch. Draco didn't know what that was about. He didn't know her well enough to develop any kind of feelings for her, but he nonetheless felt _something_ for her. He suspected it was little more than a slightly protective and perhaps possessive inclination he had.

He was, after all, a selfish person.

He didn't like to share and if he was being honest, he'd begun thinking of her as belonging to him in some manner. That she was who he went to when he was craving out-of-control sex and a relief from his frustrating life had left him thinking of her as belonging to him. In spite of their bedroom interactions, Draco had never felt possessive of her before. When he saw her dating some new tosspot, he didn't feel a little flare of jealousy or anything else, though he suspected that had more to do with the fact that he knew she would still be shagging him eventually, no matter who she was dating.

He didn't want to examine too closely the fact that he'd been missing her when he didn't get to shower with her after their past two encounters. Or that he'd felt a wave of concern crash over him when she'd almost fainted the other day and when she'd turned up poisoned that morning. He wasn't supposed to care about her in any capacity aside from caring whether or not she still could and would shag him when their daily frustrations got the best of them both. Yet he'd seen her home and made sure she had medicine and warm milk and that ridiculous forehead kiss she'd requested. He'd caught her and held her to make sure she was properly cured of the poisoning she'd arrived with that morning and again after their mission.

Merlin, he'd even bought the woman a pet. He hadn't even thought about it while they'd been in the marketplace for shady dealings. The expression on her face when she'd come across those strangely fluffy tortoises had simply amused him and he'd found himself, buying her one without thought or concern for how it might look. Of course, it had lent a certain credibility to the notion of the character he'd been playing as being the type who might lust after her rich friend under his charge but might also be aware of the adoration she'd faked when pretending he was her saviour from the likes of Finnigan's cover personality.

"Right. Well, I'll get onto this, shall I?" Weasley asked and Draco glanced at the man, blinking in surprise to recall he was still standing there.

"Please," Draco nodded his head again, watching the man eye him for a few long moments more.

"Do I want to know why you look like that?" Weasley asked him.

"Undercover mission this morning. Forgot to undo the glamour charms or get changed," Draco shrugged his shoulders unrepentantly.

"I'm surprised you're still here actually," Weasley went on and Draco wondered why the man wanted to chit chat. It was a well-known fact that despite their defection during the war and despite Draco's current position on the MLE and his standing in the community, Weasley Senior was still not fond of Draco or Lucius.

"Why wouldn't I be?" Draco asked, raising his eyebrows and expecting some comment about the idea of someone as rich as him doing overtime.

"It's almost dinner time," Weasley pointed out and Draco frowned, fishing his pocket-watch out of his pocket.

"Oh. So it is," Draco said, "I got side-tracked with my forms and inventory."

Weasley Senior eyed him shrewdly for a minute more.

"You actually care about this job, don't you Malfoy?" he asked, seeming surprised and intrigued by the notion.

"I take my job very seriously, Weasley," Draco nodded his head.

"Good," Weasley nodded, "I'm pleased Harry has someone working this case that's not going to shirk responsibility or overlook things. And this list certainly indicates you're not angling to protect anyone."

Draco merely stared back at the older man with a blank expression on his face. He didn't have to be a genius to know Weasley was implying that people were watching this case closely and were interested to see how he would handle it. It was clear from the man's tone that he was shocked by Draco's dedication but still suspicious of Draco's loyalties.

"Good night, Weasley," Draco said finally when the man kept staring at him as though waiting for righteous anger or rebuttal of the implied slights on his character. He didn't see the point. He'd been foolish in his youth and he was still working to alter the perception the wizarding world had of the Malfoy family.

"Good night, Malfoy," Weasley Senior said before he strolled away.

Draco watched him leave with a frown marring his brow. He noticed idly that the rest of the office seemed deserted, though there was a light shining in Potter's office. Glancing back down at his paperwork, Draco shrugged his shoulders. He only had a few more reports to file and he'd go home for the night. He sighed when he recalled suddenly that his fiancé had been arrested and charged that morning and had undoubtedly complained to her parents and his own by now. The idea of going home to be lectured by his mother about the proper treatment and defence of his future-wife made Draco want to pitch himself off the highest turret of the Manor.

Digging into the bottom drawer of his desk, Draco found a glass and a bottle of whiskey. He poured himself a liberal glass and began to drink from it while he went back to the reports. Maybe when he was done, he'd swing by Granger's office and see if she had her reports done for him. He didn't have to be a genius or even know her very well to know she'd still be in the office. She had a swath of new creatures to study. The fact that she'd yet to turn in her report told him she was still studying them and had most likely forgotten the reports needed to be filed.

Draco recalled what he'd heard Potter saying about the notion that Granger was most likely starving given the reaction she had to antivenin. He smirked to himself. Maybe he'd swing by a take-away shop and pick up some food for himself and Granger. He wasn't about to go interrupting her research without placating her with food. He shouldn't. He knew he shouldn't. Honestly it was a surprise his father hadn't turned up looking for him by now, given the late hour. If he caught wind of Draco bringing food and sharing a meal with Granger, he'd grow suspicious again.

He thought he'd done a good enough job of discouraging his father's suspicion of Granger being his mistress, but who knew how the man's twisted mind worked? Draco supposed he could simply hint at the notion of having since dropped the woman he'd been shagging, thereby throwing the man off the scent. Considering that she'd told him they weren't to shag anymore now that they were working together, Draco could hardly disagree with the assertion. He'd dropped her as his mistress, effectively. Now she was a colleague who needed to be bribed with food when distracted from the job.

Scratching out the last signature of his final report for the evening, Draco watched the file formally seal itself now that he'd signed it, archiving it for future reference with ease. He stretched when he got to his feet before glancing down at his attire again. He considered the idea of trying to undo her glamour charms himself, but Draco didn't dare risk it. Merlin only knew what kinds of spells she'd put on him to ensure no one could uncover his real identity unless she wanted them to. Strolling over to the Apparation station, Draco thought about the muggle and wizarding establishments he knew where he might get something decent for dinner before apparating there.


	12. Chapter 11

**A/N: Because I'm so egregiously late with this chapter, I made sure to make it a nice, long juicy one. I do hope you like it. Thanks ever so much to all of you who leave me kind reviews. You're such sweethearts! I love hearing what you think and seeing how you react to each new development.**

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 **WARNING: This chapter contains naughty bits *winks lasciviously***

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 **The Silver Dragon**

 _By Kittenshift17_

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 **Chapter 11**

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Hermione Granger looked up through a haze of steam that was issuing from the Ice Fang dragon's mouth as she studied it carefully to see the sight of someone entering her lab. She narrowed her eyes on the intruder, squinting through the fog at the raven haired man that she was sure she didn't know. She bared her teeth at him for the intrusion in annoyance, not at all in the mood for tolerating anyone else's nonsense. Hatty had signed off earlier that evening and she was once again positively starving thanks to her reaction to the antivenin she'd had to take earlier in the day.

"Can I help you?" Hermione demanded grumpily.

"You look bloody ridiculous, Granger," he snorted at her and Hermione groaned internally when she realised it was Malfoy, still in his disguise from earlier.

"You're the one in the muscle shirt," Hermione retorted, doing her best to turn her attention back to her work. A little known side-effect she also suffered from the antivenin was that it made her insatiably horny until it worked its way out of her system. If she allowed herself, she would fall into a horrid cycle of eating and shagging when she was effected by it. The last thing she needed right at that moment was Draco Malfoy sniffing around her office, especially now that they were banned from shagging one another.

That he'd snogged her that morning had been problematic enough. She could no longer simply class him as a drunken mistake and Hermione didn't trust herself not to let things get out of hand. Not when he kissed like the devil.

"Thanks to you. You're bloody lucky no one realised the tattoo on my back wasn't just another glamour, woman," he informed her, moving closer to her lab table and lifting a bag of something.

Hermione's mouth watered as she caught the scent of well-prepared Chinese food wafting from the package.

"What are you doing here, Malfoy?" Hermione demanded, doing her damnedest to keep from lunging for the food and eating it all by herself.

"Waiting for those reports you said you'd do for me," Malfoy smirked at her, "And for you to undo these glamours. Figured we might as well eat since it's almost eight o'clock."

"What?" Hermione asked, frowning at him in confusion. She glanced down at her wrist watch and blinked in shock. When had it gotten so late? No wonder she was starving. She hadn't eaten in hours.

"Do try not to appear so dense, Granger," Malfoy commanded, "Now leave the dragon alone, put me right again and eat with me."

"We can't eat in here," Hermione informed him. The logical part of her brain was reminding her that she wasn't meant to be eating with him at all, and that they were supposed to be keeping interactions to a minimum lest his father learn they'd ever shagged. Her subconscious was also reminding her that the git was now technically her husband. Something she was going to have to deal with at some stage. After all, she'd decided to try and keep it from him that they'd foolishly gotten married, but it wouldn't be very effective for long with him intending to marry Astoria in a few months. She was intending to find out what she could do to have the marriage annulled or otherwise reversed, though she wasn't sure how effective it would be. Everything she'd read suggested the bonding ceremony that called for tattoos was specifically designed to be practically impossible to undo.

However, all of those things came second to her grumbling stomach at that moment and she wasn't about to tell him he couldn't be there and needed to buzz off when she could take advantage of the food he was offering.

"What do you suggest then?" he asked, raising his eyebrows at her.

"Let me put this guy away and we'll eat in my office. And don't touch anything. You'll contaminate my lab."

He curled his lip at her in annoyance for her bossy tone but Hermione ignored him in favour of caging the dragon she'd been studying once more and putting him back in the enclosure she had for the many creatures she'd been studying. When she was done she beckoned Malfoy behind her and led him into her office.

"Are you going to fix how I look or not?" he asked when they reached the office, "You should fix the way you look too, by the way. Your hair looks like its harbouring fugitives, it's so frizzy."

"Did I ask for your opinion?" Hermione demanded, her hunger getting the better of her.

"You never do," he retorted, smirking as though her temper amused him. Hermione wasn't surprised. She waved her wand at herself, dissipating the charms upon herself before doing the same to him. She couldn't help but giggle when they melted away, leaving his standing there in the tight muscle shirt and looking so entirely not like Draco Malfoy. She kind of hated herself for the pulse of desire she felt at the sight of him, knowing what he could do to her in a bedroom.

"Oh those clothes do not suit you, Draco Malfoy," she informed him, still chuckling.

"I tried to tell you that this morning," he pointed out.

"They worked for your cover. But seeing you in them without the rest of the glamour charms just looks hilarious," Hermione smirked at him, "I take it by your presence here and the fact that you have food, that you're avoiding going home?"

"Would you want to walk into your house after a long day of paperwork to be assaulted and rebuked over the treatment of a woman you loathe?" he asked her archly as he opened the bag of Chinese food and began unloading the containers onto her desk.

"This is why I live alone," Hermione replied, still smirking at him and amused by the notion of him preferring her company to that of his parents, even if he was only using her to avoid them.

"Oh yeah, that's the only reason," he retorted sarcastically, "And here I thought you were so enamoured with Wood?"

Hermione rolled her eyes at him.

"Oliver and I are no longer seeing each other," Hermione replied, accepting the pair of chopsticks he offered her and reaching for the Peanut Chicken, "No matter how much I might've grown to care for him and he for me."

"Why not?" Malfoy asked her nosily and Hermione marvelled at his ability to be scornful, confused and curious all at the same time.

"Gee, could it have anything to do with the idea of me cheating on him?" Hermione asked just as sarcastically.

"You were the one who insisted you wouldn't be doing so any longer," he replied, digging into the Mu Shu Pork hungrily and wielding his chopsticks like a seasoned veteran.

"You say that as though you believe I might've only been cheating on him with you," Hermione replied archly, smirking when he narrowed his eyes on her slightly.

"Just how much of a tart are you, Granger?" he demanded to know.

Hermione blew a raspberry at him thanks to having her mouth full.

"I'm not a tart at all, thank you very much. You're the one screwing around on your fiancé."

"I'm the one forced into a relationship I don't want with a woman I can't stand," he corrected her, "And unlike you, I've only been cheating with one person."

Hermione paused in her devouring of the food, having moved onto the beef and black bean to look up at him, startled.

"You were only..."

"Shagging you?" he offered, "Yeah. I'm a prominent figure in our world, Granger. I don't get the luxury of sleeping around with just anyone now that I'm engaged. Since you're the only one with as much to lose as I have, and therefore the only one who is likely to keep her mouth shut about it all, you are the only woman I've been shagging since I started courting Astoria."

Hermione blinked at him in utter shock.

"You've been officially courting her for two and a half years," Hermione pointed out, confused, "You've only been shagging me and her in that time?"

Malfoy snorted at her.

"Do you imagine that proper pureblood etiquette allows for the idea of me shagging her?" he asked scornfully, "I've never shagged Astoria, and won't until we're married."

Hermione almost dropped her container of honey chicken. He'd only been shagging for the past two and a half years? That was... insane! Hermione stared at him in utter horror. Sweet Merlin, no wonder she'd been accusing him of getting attached. How was he even functioning without getting laid more frequently than she was offering?

"Don't look at me like that," he warned her in a low voice.

"I just don't understand," Hermione said finally when she recovered from her shock, "Surely if you want out of this marriage to Astoria so badly, it would make more sense to let yourself be caught in a compromising position? You've made no secret to me about your hatred for Astoria. Why are you marrying her if you loathe her so much?"

"I don't have a choice," he replied, shrugging, "Her father and mine arranged it all for political alliance and business venture solidification. If I protest too openly or do anything to sabotage the union, I expect my parents would cut me off financially and kick me out of the Manor."

"That doesn't mean you don't have a choice, Malfoy," Hermione rolled her eyes, "I can assure you that plenty of functioning adults live separately from their parents and provide for themselves financially. It's not as though you don't have a well-paying job to finance yourself."

"I hope you're not counting yourself among the functioning adults, Granger" he replied, smirking at her.

"Why wouldn't I?" Hermione asked him, "I've lived without my parents since I was eighteen and I'm perfectly functioning."

"Aside from the mild alcoholism, the penchant for getting yourself poisoned - both by accident and on purpose - and the fact that you're so mentally twisted you've been shagging someone you can't stand while muttering your fury over the bloke who broke your heart years ago," he pointed out rudely.

"And just what would you know about it?" Hermione demanded, narrowing her eyes on him in annoyance.

"I'm the idiot you've been shagging," he retorted.

"I'm pleased to see you've come to terms with your own idiocy, but you know nothing about me or my life, Malfoy."

"Other than that you despise how much you can't hate Camilla Weasley, and that wish pox upon Weaselbee and tend to get drunk whilst sore over those things before you end up shagging me three ways from Sunday. Face it, Granger. Once might've been a foolish accident and a decision made under drunken circumstance. Twice was a mistake that never should have occurred. But considering your went for round thirteen last week, I think it's become clear that you're not entirely as mentally stable as you might've hoped."

Hermione thought seriously about throwing the container of spicy beef at his head. How dare he point out her flaws this way? Who did he think he was?

 _Maybe your husband?_ her subconscious sneered unhelpfully and Hermione felt fury flood her cheeks pink at the reminder that the man currently goading her from the far side of her desk with his stupid, pointed face and his ridiculous blonde hair was, in fact, her legally wedded husband and he had no idea they were even married. Hermione really was going to have to do something about it.

"This from the person who spouted blood purity his whole life and has spent the better part of the past three years exclusively shagging a mudblood?" she snarled in reply, "From the man who is literally a barely functioning alcoholic because he's letting his family manhandle him into a marriage he doesn't want, all because he's too scared to part with his family's money?"

"I never claimed to be a functioning adult, Granger," Malfoy replied, smirking as though she'd amused him with her fury rather than insulted him.

"Why are you here?" Hermione demanded, furious with him now. She knew it was a result of her adverse reaction to the antivenin and she hated herself for the way desire was boiling in her blood despite how angry she was with him, "You can't be here, Malfoy. You and I might be forced into being colleagues but we are not shagging anymore and we are certainly not friends. I won't be your excuse just so you can avoid going home to a situation you're not happy with."

"Yes you will," he replied, still smirking infuriatingly, "And you owe me a number of reports."

"You bought me dinner!" Hermione snarled in annoyance.

"Most people would just say thank you, Granger," he pointed out, "Are the circumstance of your birth responsible for this lack of manners you exhibit?"

Hermione slammed down her food and shot to her feet.

"You have no right to speak about my parents when your own are the type of rotten people who would sacrifice your happiness for the sake of their political alliances!" she snarled furiously, "Not when they're the type of people who would ever fall in with Voldemort in the first place. Don't you dare lecture me about manners when you were raised by cold-hearted, vindictive bigots and have less manners to speak of than the average troll!"

Malfoy stood as well, setting down his food as he glared at her coldly.

"Witch if I had less manners than a troll I'd bend you over this fucking desk and spank you until you couldn't sit down!" he informed her coldly.

Hermione narrowed her eyes on him even as she felt another pulse of desire course through her, making her knickers damp.

"I stand by what I said," Hermione retorted, squaring her shoulders defiantly, "You're nothing but a spoiled little rich boy who might've been taught all the pompous bollocks but you still believe you're better than everyone else and so don't deign to use those manners expect to pander to people you despise, for the sake of marrying a woman you loathe, just so Daddy doesn't kick you out of the house. You're pathetic!"

Before she could blink, Malfoy rounded her desk and invaded her personal space, his wand closing and locking the door with a snap. He twisted a hand into her hair viciously, and Hermione hated herself for how much she liked the sting. She could honestly say that outside of the things she did with Malfoy, she'd never explored the world of BDSM or considered herself a masochist, but sweet Merlin, she liked the things he did to her. She might usually be drunk and so not at all care about some of the humiliating things he did to her, but in all honesty, she enjoyed them just the same.

"Insults, Granger?" he asked, well within her personal space as he moulded her body to his chest, his lips ghosting against hers as he stared her down.

"Got a problem with that, Malfoy?" Hermione retorted, holding her ground and glaring at him just as furiously.

He made a sound of furious frustration before his lips slammed against hers forcefully, his tongue sweeping between her lips to tangle with hers hungrily. Hermione knew it was wrong. She'd vowed to herself that she would stop shagging him. Her soul searching had proven to her that she no longer loved Ron in a romantic sense; that she adored Oliver but couldn't have a future with him; and that her husband was trouble.

But the feel of him against her, his hand twisting in her hair savagely in a way that stung just a bit, not to mention the antivenin effects coursing through her body, made it so that Hermione didn't much care right then about saying no to him and refusing to shag him again. Not when his fiancé was a bitch. She'd realised that she was only ceasing shagging him for two reasons. He was supposed to be with Astoria, no matter how vapid she was. And she didn't want him to catch sight of her tattoo and figure out they were married.

Then again, she didn't see why she couldn't just prevent him from stripping her out of her shirt.

Kissing him back just as forcefully, Hermione dug her nails into the sides of his neck hungrily, moulding herself more fully against him and snogging him furiously. Her heart began to pound inside her chest and her whole body throbbed with need. He twisted them both until Hermione was backed up against her desk, trapping her against the wood and grinding into her hungrily. She'd never shagged him whilst completely sober before, but he was no less intoxicating now than he had been every other time she'd shagged him.

Releasing his neck to delve her hands between them, Hermione fumbled with his belt until she got it undone. She squeaked in surprise when he suddenly broke their passionate snog, spun her roughly and bent her over the desk. Before she could react, she found herself chained to her desk by the set of handcuffs attached to a metal ring on the far side, for those time when she dealt with criminals of the Magical Creature persuasion.

"Hey!" Hermione complained, though she was utterly titillated. He nibbled her earlobe, breathing hotly into her ear even as he flipped her skirt up over her back and was reaching for her knickers.

"Don't pretend you're not wet for it Granger," he purred into her ear, "I know you heard me warn you about a demonstration of how troll-like I could be."

"Block the Floo, idiot," Hermione replied, squirming at the liquid heat pooling between her thighs.

"We also agreed you weren't in charge and wouldn't be giving the orders," he informed her, though Hermione heard him mutter the charms to do as she'd asked just the same. His free hand peeled her out of her knickers and Hermione felt a terrible thrill rush through her as they skidded down her legs to puddle at her feet, revealing her bum and her aching quim to the cool air of the office.

She hissed in surprise when he brought his belt down firmly on her behind, striking both cheeks and being sure to clip her pussy with it. Merlin that stung! Much more than it had whenever she'd been drunk.

"Hurts more sober?" he wanted to know, curling himself around her to nip her earlobe again.

"Yes," Hermione admitted.

She ought to have felt terribly exposed and vulnerable chained this way, bent over her desk and tethered in place, her naked bum on display to his hungry gaze while he humiliated her by spanking her as though she were a naughty child. Hermione didn't know what to make of the fact that she didn't. Oh, she did feel exposed. Raw, even. But she'd didn't feel vulnerable to him. She felt… strangely worshipped.

It made no sense to her whatsoever.

"Want me to stop?" he asked after delivering a second blow that made her cry out softly.

"No," she admitted, her cheeks pinkening at her shameful admission.

"Good girl," he purred in her ear for her honesty and Hermione hated them both just a little bit to know that the words of praise worked her into a lustful frenzy. She loathed how much she'd always craved approval from others for her endeavours.

She could feel herself getting wetter with every strike and Hermione cried out several spanks later when he burrowed one long finger into her slick quim. Each strike of his belt on her now stinging behind sent jolts of pleasure coursing through her, heightening the feeling of neediness between her legs and making her ache to have him touch her. She writhed against her restraints, bucking and wiggling, trying to bring the belt of his body into better contact with her aching centre. Trying to find release

"Oh Gods," Hermione groaned, laying her forehead on the table as he tormented her with that single digit. His darkly satisfied chuckle made her throb even more.

"Still think I'm a troll?" he asked her huskily and Hermione could feel the raging proof that he was as turned on by all this as she was.

"No," Hermione practically sobbed, her head pulled back by his rough fist in her hair so he could peer into her face even as he moulded him body to her back, "No, you're an animal."

He smirked wickedly then and Hermione felt his belt drop to the floor by their feet. He released her hair and she could feel him fumbling with the front of his trousers, unbuttoning them quickly. His other hand still tormented her quim, two fingers now working in and out of her, scraping at her sensitive places as though he knew them all by heart. Hermione supposed that by now he probably did know them all by heart. A sob caught in her throat as he tormented her g-spot while his thumb began pressing soft circles to her clit.

"Tease," she accused breathlessly when he worked her right to the brink of orgasm before backing off slightly, his lips playing at her neck hungrily.

"You want it?" he asked her, his voice husky.

Hermione nodded.

"I can't hear you, Granger," he tutted clucking his tongue disapprovingly, "Do you want it?"

"Yes, I want it," Hermione whimpered, hating him just a bit for what he was doing to her. He took his time pleasuring her. His fingers pumping in slowly, curling against her special soft and dragging back out. He nipped her neck sharply enough to leave a mark before sucking the flesh into his mouth reverently.

"Say please," he purred in her ear, still torturing her with his thumb on her clit, pressing ever so softly to it in a way that drove her wild. She rocked her hips back against him, trying to bring more friction.

"Say please, my needy little vixen," he whispered, chuckling and backing off slightly with his hand to keep her from getting what she wanted until she did as he asked. Hermione knew she ought to be offended by is calling her that, but she was too delirious to care. That he'd also called her his messed with her head.

"Please Malfoy," Hermione sobbed raggedly, bucking against his hand again as she tried to get what she needed, "Please fuck me."

He hummed appreciatively and nuzzled her cheek even as he withdrew his fingers from her slick passage. Hermione cried out in protest at the very idea and it turned into a low whine of delight when she felt him press the head of his cock to her slit and begin slowly impaling her upon it. He took his sweet time about it, one slow inch pressing into her at a time until he was seated deep inside her. Another sob tore from her throat as tears slipped down her cheeks at how good it felt.

His hand tangled back into her hair, pulling her up as far as the chains allowed and turning her to receive his blazing kiss. Hermione's blood boiled inside her veins at the feeling of utter completion she felt with him buried inside her, impaling her so deliciously while he snogged her so hungrily. Her bottom stung from her spanking and he released her lips and her hair once more when Hermione felt she might swoon with the lack of oxygen.

She cried out when he gripped her hips tightly while he withdrew almost as slowly as he'd penetrated her. The bolt-jolting force as he drove back in buckled her knees and Hermione crashed to the desk-top, boneless when he powered into her, his body bumping into hers and making the welts on her bum ache deliciously.

He set a hard pace then, his hands biting into her hips viciously as he fucked her so hard Hermione's vision blurred. She writhed and moaned in his grip, trying to gain some semblance of self-control, trying to angle her hips to prevent the way each hard thrust ground her clit against the edge of the desk. When she came apart in his hold, it was with a hoarse cry of utter agony, pleasure and surrender all rolled into one.

"Fuck, Granger!" she dimly heard him curse as he pistoned into her even harder while she dragged him into the abyss along with her. Hot, heavy spurts brought about his release and Hermione sighed, panting as he rested against her, curled around her where she was still bent over the desk. His hands left her hips to slide down her arms and tangle with her own chained pair.

He panted against her. Dimly, Hermione was aware of the discarded dinner they'd abandoned during the fight turned shag session. When Malfoy peeled himself off of her and waved his wand to release her wrists, Hermione dropped back into her office chair, sitting in his lap when she found him already there.

She clutched the box of lemon chicken in her hand. Malfoy snorted as she reclined against his chest and began picking at the chicken with her fingers, popping it into her mouth.

"How can you still be hungry?" he wanted to know when he rested his chin over her shoulder, "You already ate most of the food and I just fucked your into submission."

"It's the antivenin," Hermione admitted, still breathing raggedly. She offered him a piece of chicken with her fingers and felt a stir of desire in her belly when he nipped and licked at her fingers as he accepted it. The fact that she'd just hand-fed him boggled her mind.

"It makes you hungry enough to eat an entire take-away store?" he asked.

"And horny enough to become a hooker," Hermione nodded her head, "If you stick around long enough for me to get my breath back, I'll fuck you again."

"Bloody hell, Granger," he said, seeming amused, "Just how often do you have to take this stuff?"

"Antivenin, not that often. I tend to avoid studying venomous reptilian creatures when I can for the simple reason that I would go broke trying to feed myself with how often I'd need to take the medicine and suffer the results. But I tend to need antidote to a poison at least once a day."

"You're a little bit barmy, aren't you Granger?" he asked, accepting more chicken when she offered it to him.

"I'm just dedicated to my job. And the antidotes do the trick, so there's not so much to worry about with the effects. It allows for the testing of their venom, poison or other secretions on humans too."

"You have a penchant for allowing yourself to be the human test subject?" he asked her, and Hermione closed her eyes as she leaned against him, hoping against hope that he'd forgotten the Memory Potion.

"No reason not to. Magic has cures for things that would otherwise have killed me years ago," Hermione informed him.

"Tell me what happened the night of Weaselbee's wedding," he commanded quietly, his arms circling her waist to hold her on his lap while she reclined against him and continued to eat.

"No," Hermione answered bluntly.

"Granger," he warned.

"I'm not going to tell you, Malfoy," Hermione warned him, "So don't take that tone with me. You do not need or want to know what happened."

"Witch, I woke up with a giant tattoo!" he growled, twisting his arms inward far enough that she could see the glint of silver of his tattoo peeking out the sleeves of the muscle shirt.

"I know," Hermione told her, "But what do you want me to tell you? You had the stupid idea that you wanted a tattoo, I was drunk enough to encourage you since I happen to find tattoos sexy, and we shagged."

"I took you back to the Manor," he reminded her, "My father heard us."

"Yes, I know," Hermione replied, sighing, "Which is why you really shouldn't be here having dinner with me and shagging me."

"I came here under the pretence of reminding you about the files I need from you, since I knew you'd be busy with your creatures and have forgotten," he retorted.

"And yet you just bent me over the desk and fucked me, after feeding me," she replied, "You're father is going to catch us, Malfoy and I do not want to deal with the fallout when he does. You know he'll bury the pair of us. It's one thing to have him know you're cheating on your fiancé. It's another to have him find out you've sullied yourself with a muggleborn. He'll use his influence to tank my career and smear my reputation and he'll most likely murder you."

"None of that stopped you from begging me to fuck you," he pointed out unhelpfully.

"I've ingested a potion that makes me want to shag anything male, don't think you're special Malfoy."

"Didn't stop you shagging me any of the other times either."

Hermione's eyes crossed in frustration.

"We can't do this, Malfoy. I wasn't aware that I'm the only one seeing to your sexual needs, but honestly, I can't let that be my problem. You are supposed to marry another woman, remember? One who already hates me."

"As though I want to," he grumbled, peppering her neck with kisses despite their conversation, "And stop trying to distract me. Tell me why I decided to get a tattoo. I'm not a fucking idiot Granger."

"As though only idiots get tattoos?"

"It takes up my entire back," Malfoy retorted, "Or did you forget? Half my body is now covered with silver ink! I've never had any inclination to get a tattoo before. Other than briefly considering something to cover the Dark Mark on my arm a few years ago."

Hermione glance at the sight where his Dark Mark had been. It was faded like a red scar now, rather than black with ink or magic – whatever had been used to create it. She suspected magic. A mutilation of the wedding bond, actually.

"How should I know Malfoy? The fact is that you got a tattoo. Get over it."

"What else happened? There's no way the artist could do such a design in one night."

"It's a magical tattoo, Malfoy," Hermione rolled her eyes, though he couldn't see it. "It only took an hour. The rest of the night was spent engaging in debauchery with me. Again."

"Why did I take you to the Manor?" he asked suspiciously and Hermione suspected he didn't believe her story.

"How should I know? Maybe because your bed is nicer than some sleazy hotel?"

Hermione wriggled in his grip until he let her up. She fished her knickers and his belt from the floor, donning the knickers again before turning to him and handing him his belt. He looked well shagged where he sat. His cheeks were flushed pink with exertion and his trousers were undone. He'd tucked himself back inside but hadn't re-buttoned them. His shirt was crumpled from where she'd reclined against him too.

"You need to go home," she informed him when he took the belt from her hand.

"I'm not finished with you yet," he replied, dropping the belt back onto the floor and snagging her hands before pulling her back down onto him, this time with her straddling his lap. She sighed when he nuzzled back into her neck, nipping along her collarbone and peppering her soft flesh with love-bites.

Knowing she really ought not to encourage him, but unable to resist, Hermione sank her hands into his silky blonde hair once more, stretching her neck to give him better access. He continued his ministrations over her chest and Hermione groaned when he nosed aside the loose-fitting neckline of her tank-top and pulled her bra aside to get at her right nipple. He laved it with his tongue and Hermione whimpered before he drew the pebbled peak into his mouth. Sparkles exploded behind her eyelids as he sucked her hard into his mouth, hard enough to mark her skin.

Hermione's eyes flew open when he reached to free her left breast too, knowing he would see her tattoo if she let him do it. Catching his hand, Hermione leaned away from him.

"You need to go," she told him firmly, tucking herself back into her shirt, "Go home, Malfoy."

"Now who's the tease?" he asked her, his eyes stormy with desire.

"I am. Deal with it. We can't keep doing this," she informed him primly, trying to keep her head when she wiggled on his lap as she tried to get free and only managed to grind on his rapidly hardening erection again.

"We've already done this today," he replied, pulling her back in for more as he reached for her lips with his own, "What's one more round?"

She hated herself for her weakness when she let him talk her into it. His hand under her skirt freed his cock from his trousers once more and he slid her knickers to the side before guiding her back down on him slowly. Hermione's head tipped back as she gave in to the urge to ride him, slow and easy in her office chair. When his hands slipped under the hem of her shirt and glided over her hips to settle on her ribs, Hermione saw stars.

The feeling of him touching her tattoo was like divine pleasure. He felt it too, she could tell. Unable to resist, Hermione peeled him out of the muscle-shirt he still wore, leaving his chest bare to her gaze. The sight of his tattoo, so bright against his pale skin, drew her attention immediately and before she could think better of it, Hermione rounded her spine and ducked her head to tongue at his left nipple and at the tattooed flesh hungrily. She lost her breath at the feel of doing so. It was like every place their bodies touched came alive as they touched the marks they'd left upon one another.

Malfoy's breath hitched and he drove up into her harder, not increasing the speed, just the power of the thrust as she rode him to sweet release. He came moments after her when she slipped back into the pleasurable abyss, sighing her name as though she were a goddess he revered. He captured her lips with his, kissing her slowly, softly. Hermione felt like she could never have enough of him as she curled into his embrace and let him kiss her until she wasn't sure of her own name.

"This can't become a habit," she told him what felt like hours later.

"Bit late for that, Granger," he chuckled softly, seeming as contented and at peace as Hermione felt herself.

"I mean, you can't be coming here after work every night, bringing food and eating with me before shagging me. We're supposed to be pretending we've never shagged. Your father is already suspicious. I know he is. I saw him sniffing around my department earlier this afternoon."

"Fucking bastard," Draco grumbled, though he seemed unable to rouse any real anger over the idea.

"We're supposed to be keeping this professional, remember?" Hermione asked him.

"I can be professional and still fuck you," he informed her.

"No you can't. This needs to stop Malfoy. You know it does."

"I don't see why," he informed her, "You're currently single. I want to be. And we have the added benefit of the legitimate excuse that we have to work late. We should be making the most of this."

"And I'm sure we would be, if not for your father," Hermione replied softly, knowing it was true. Knowing she was considering keeping on with it anyway, despite the threat Lucius posed.

"I've never wanted to kill that man before now," Draco informed her quietly even as he lifted her from his lap and made to stand, clearly realising it would just turn into another argument. The clock on her desk also proclaimed that it was now after ten at night. He needed to get home.

"What are you going to tell them you were doing all night?" Hermione wanted to know, "They'll have come looking for you by now."

Malfoy shrugged his shoulders, "Tell them I was out drinking, rather than at home drinking where they could lecture me."

Hermione nodded her head, waving her wand at the food.

"Do you want any of this?" she asked him as the boxes folded themselves all back up.

"No, you take it," he nodded at her, "Might as well keep you well-fed until that antivenin wears off, since I can't continue to keep you well fucked too."

He sounded annoyed about the idea.

Hermione smiled in spite of herself. She glanced up at his face and found that he was pouting. He was entirely too adorable when he pouted like that.

"Don't forget to change back into your regular robes. I don't imagine it would be wise to let your parents see your tattoo. Or that love bite," she pointed to the mark she'd left on his neck.

He smirked as he rubbed his hand over it. Hermione watched as he strolled over to her fireplace, no doubt intending to Floo back to his office to get his clothing. He stopped when he had the powder in his hand, poised to leave.

"See you tomorrow Granger."


	13. Chapter 12

**A/N: Thanks so much to all of you who've been reviewing. I know you're all anxious to have Draco find out about the tattoos and the marriage, but it's not going to happen for another little while yet. Hermione has too much to lose and too much on her mind to risk telling him just yet. The reveal is coming, but you'll have to wait. There's more to this fic than just that they're married and have tattoos, mkay?**

* * *

 **The Silver Dragon**

 _By Kittenshift17_

* * *

 **Chapter 12**

* * *

Draco didn't even listen while his mother raged at him when he returned to the Manor. She was screeching about Astoria being arrested and him being home so late. His father was glaring at him, accusing him of not being at the office and yet turning up so late. He noticed idly that Lucius didn't mention his having a mistress to Narcissa. That was just as well. His mother might've flogged him with something if she thought he was screwing around on Astoria and risking everything she'd been working so hard to accomplish.

He tuned out their rants, staring at them blankly as he reclined in the armchair where they'd bid him sit while they rebuked him. When finally they seemed to run out of steam when he gave them no answers on where he'd been and why he hadn't done more to assist Astoria avoid arrest, they stopped speaking and simply glared at him.

"Are you done?" he asked them finally.

"That's all you have to say for yourself?" Narcissa demanded, looking appalled.

"What would you like to hear Mother?" Draco retorted coldly, his peaceful mood after his intense shag with Granger slowly receding in the face of her continued harping, "Because I can guarantee that you do _not_ want the truth right now."

She narrowed her eyes on him and Draco saw the way Lucius's face blanched at the implied threat that he might share with Narcissa just what he'd been doing.

"I just don't understand why you can't be more amicable with her, Draco? Astoria's a lovely young lady," Narcissa implored, trying to reason with him now that she'd sparked his temper, knowing her own didn't measure up should Draco fly into a rage.

"Astoria Greengrass is a vapid, vindictive, manipulative, gold-digging little snake," Draco replied, his tone and his mood like ice, "She has all the attractive personal traits of a Dementor that just happens to be wrapped into a pretty, sparkling package. I would rather pull my fingernails off with rusty pliers and endure the Cruciatus curse every day for the rest of my life than spend another minute in her presence."

"Careful Draco," Lucius warned silkily, narrowing his eyes on him.

"Of what Father?" Draco snarled, "What could you possibly threaten me with that might still my tongue? Going to disown me? I hardly think that will be an issue. You're forgetting that I _do not need_ to rely on the Malfoy fortune for my survival."

Narcissa gasped in horror and Draco knew they'd received the message loud and clear that if they kept pushing him, they wouldn't have to disown him. Draco would turn his back on them and walk away.

"Draco, darling," he mother began imploringly but Draco help up his hand to cut her off.

"I have never deluded myself that either of you actually give a fuck about my happiness in comparison to how I represent this family and each of you within the wizarding world," he informed them quietly, "But you should bear very much in mind that I am sacrificing literally all of it to pander to your fucking whims. And for a political alliance that will see you, Father, thrown back into Azkaban should the Ministry get word of the dealings Augustus Greengrass is involved in. That, and a business merger that really only works in their favour. You are forcing me into a marriage I do not want, to a woman I would prefer to murder in cold blood than ever lay eyes on again. You would do well to remember those things the next time you want to argue with me about my habits, my whereabouts and my practices."

"You let her get arrested Draco! Over a mudblood!" Lucius snarled at him while his mother paled.

Draco knew that his mother, at least, was concerned with his happiness. She loved him, in her way, but she still had very high expectations of him and he'd fallen short more than once before.

"And what would you have had me do, Father?" Draco demanded, his grey eyes flashing in fury, "The head of my fucking department personally arrested her. She is not authorised to be in the MLE department, as she very well knows. She assaulted an MLE agent – even if that agent happened to be a mudblood. She further threatened that agent with continued altercation and she practically shouted the word 'mudblood' in the middle of the MLE offices. With Potter and a number of other witnesses to hear her. She screeched like a banshee and talked herself into those handcuffs when she didn't shut her mouth."

Draco paused to narrow his eyes further on his father.

"Just what might you have recommended I do in that instance? Call in favours to keep her from an arrest she rightly deserved? Attempt to blackmail the likes of righteous gits like Potter? Waste valuable money, resources and connections to prevent that stupid little slut from learning a lesson she bloody needed? She sat in a cell for a few hours and the simpering little bitch is pouting about it because Mudblood Granger got the best of her. What could I possibly have done to prevent that? She dug her own grave and I wasn't about to lie in it with her. Not when I'd prefer to literally dig her an actual grave – without magic – and hurl her pathetic dead body in there."

Narcissa gasped in horror at his dark words.

"She's your betrothed," Lucius reminded him, "It's your job to protect her."

"No Father," Draco smirked cruelly at him, "The only requirements on me as her fiancé or her husband are to provide for her financially, to deflower her on her Merlin-cursed wedding night and to fuck an heir into her belly."

"She will soon be a Malfoy," Lucius reminded him coldly.

"She'll _never_ be a Malfoy," Draco vowed.

Without another word he got to his feet and stalked out of the room, ignoring his Mother when she called after him, before he retired to his room for the night.

~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~

Two months later they were no further ahead with the case. Draco scrubbed his hand over his face as he read the reports they'd been given from the number of people Potter had been hauling in to be interrogated. Many had been arrested and put behind bars, and in actuality the case was going swimmingly. It just didn't feel like it to Draco. They were no closer to finding out who was running the smuggling rings and who was behind all the trafficking.

Oh, they were pulling criminals off the street left and right, many of them being charged and many more people being caught with illicit materials they purchased at the Black Market – as it had been dubbed by an amused seeming Granger. The problem was that no matter how they leaned on these idiots, no one seemed to know who was in charge of the entire mess. They'd seized a shipment of dragons coming in from Romania two days ago and Granger had been furiously identifying, cataloguing and testing all of them.

The Minister for Magic had been forced to open a Dragon Sanctuary here in Britain, headed up by Charlie Weasley, when it became clear that the borders were no longer safe. Something they discovered when the second shipment of dragons being sent to the colonies in Romania had been stolen en route. Draco was more convinced than ever that there was a mole in the Ministry, someone who had access to the information or at least to the basic information about the case. No one but Potter, Draco, Finnigan, Higgins and Granger knew the full extent of the case anymore.

His parents still weren't pleased with him after his outburst weeks ago and Draco was about ready to commit murder. Astoria hadn't forgiven him for letting her get arrested and had informed him tersely that she'd thought he was better than to protect a mudblood over the likes of her. She'd also slapped him, and had Draco not spent the evening prior to that incident fucking Granger bent over and chained to her desk, he'd have punched the little bitch right in the mouth.

As it was, Draco's fuse was short. He hadn't shagged Granger since that time in her office months ago and being in close quarters with her every day was driving him spare. He could hardly stand the sight of her when she strolled into work every morning. He wanted to throw her down on the enlarged desk they were sharing and fuck her until she screamed. To make matters worse, Weasley had returned to work after his honeymoon and while he headed up a different department to Draco, the git had been making snide comments about the state of their case. Generally to the effect that for all the illicit and contraband product they were seizing, they weren't making any headway.

And the bastard was right.

Last week they'd seized a shipment of Lethe so large that they could have effectively drugged the entire Ministry and gotten them all hooked for life. When Draco had leaned hard – too hard – on a junkie already hooked on it who'd been the one to lead them to the dealer in the first place, he'd learned only one thing.

Italy was involved.

Draco was also on report as a result of what he'd done to the junkie. Potter had shouted at him for a good twenty minutes over that incidence and told him that if he was going to act like a fucking Death Eater again, he'd be treated like one. Draco had almost punched Potter too. Only Granger's intervention had prevented it when she'd literally wrapped herself around him like an octopus, throwing herself between him and Potter and nearly getting accidentally hit by him for her trouble. She'd clung to him like a barnacle and had jinxed him with a dizziness inducing spell to prevent him being able to throw her off him and go after Potter for his comments.

Not that they hadn't been justified. The junkie had been coming down hard from his bender and it had been hard to get any sense out of him. The fact that he was French hadn't helped either, since Draco's French was rocky these days. He'd taken a leaf out of Aunt Bella's book to get the information he wanted from the junkie. After she'd kept him from hitting Potter, Granger hadn't spoken to him for three days as a result of what he'd done.

His mother had also gotten wind of it and she'd been absolutely disgusted with him. She'd even cried. Draco couldn't stand it when the woman cried. That, more than anything, had made him think he'd gone a bit too far. But he wasn't sorry. He knew there was a lead they needed to rundown in Italy and had learned the name of a dealer there who was supplying the Lethe to France.

He and his team would be taking a portkey the following day to run it down.

Draco was about ready to explode. He'd agreed to meet with Granger, Higgins and Finnigan at Granger's flat and he wasn't sure he could do it. He was ready to jump the woman. The stress was getting to him and Draco was sure he was going to kill someone – most likely Astoria - before the month was out. At least he would if he had to look across his desk one more time and watch Granger nibbling on her quill. She was as infuriating as she was brilliant and he would admit that if it weren't for her, they'd not have gotten as far as they had.

Her mind worked in ways that his just didn't. Where Draco could sniff out shady deals and connections like a bloodhound could hunt down a fox, Granger was analytical. Draco had no idea how she'd hadn't been sorted into Slytherin or even Ravenclaw. Things he was certain couldn't possibly be connected were getting them further leads than he'd ever expected. The most notable of which was the fact that in addition to trafficking just about every illegal thing known to the wizarding world from around the globe, the bastards behind this mess were also buying up property, segments of protected land and a number of other things across the globe.

She'd set up something to monitor the global market with some fancy wandwork and a muggle device that tracked purchases being made across the globe that fell into particular criteria. Currently the bastards were buying up abandoned warehouses, factories, rundown farms, hotel buildings, and even funeral homes. And not just in Britain. He didn't know how she'd done it, but she'd flagged every property from around the world that was listed on either the muggle or magical markets that fit the criteria and she was running them down faster than he was doing with the illegal goods.

She was certain that such places were being purchased not for trading the goods, but storing, manufacturing and otherwise hoarding them until they were ready for distribution. A terrible new branch of their investigation also included the magical creature equivalent of dog-fights, which she also believed were being held in the buildings she was investigating. All across the globe the international Ministries had been reporting murders and abandoned bodies of different creatures. Dragons were common, though only those of the easy-to-breed and cheap to trade species. The more valuable ones were worth too much alive to be used for dog-fights. Merepeople from differing clans were proving common too. Any creature that could be goaded into fighting when beaten, starved and hurled into a pit with a bleeding opponent was falling prey to what Granger had begun to refer to as The Pits.

She had her fingers into everything too, and in all honesty Draco had no idea how she been allowed to sit out on investigations in the past. She had somehow convened with Ministries from around the globe to get her hands on highly classified information pertaining to anything that might lead back to their crime syndicate. While Potter, Shacklebolt and the international affairs officers had been arguing with the Russian Ministry to be granted access to their country at all, let alone their Ministry and their files, Granger had breezed in and gotten her hands on what she wanted.

For a moment he'd wondered who she was shagging to get what she wanted, but closer inspection had taught him something about Hermione Granger that he'd never have suspected and something that frankly unnerved him.

She was ruthless.

Cold-hearted. Clinical. Analytical.

She didn't let anything stand in the way of what she wanted and she never had to lift a wand to get it. She didn't scream or shout or torture information out of anyone. She didn't bribe them to give her what she wanted. She manoeuvred them like pieces on a chessboard. She distracted them with a Knight while a pawn handled the release of the Queen. She was utterly formidable and Draco didn't think he'd ever feared anyone the way he'd feared Granger when he realised it.

And it wasn't due to her ability to access the information, though that was impressive enough. It was the fact that she did so while maintaining her dignity, her integrity and whilst wearing an innocent, yet slightly knowing smile. She manipulated Foreign Delegates, Minsters and international corporations the way his mother manipulated the ladies of pureblood high society, only Granger was so much more dangerous for it. She'd talked the Arabian Minister into allowing them access to all trafficking information, property information and crime reports they had on file with just a well-placed compliment to one the man's nineteen wives. And she'd done it in such a way that she received it via some kind of… Draco didn't even know what it was.

It was a complex spell she'd invented that transferred the information of their files from the records they kept and the new ones they filed, into some non-corporeal form that meant it transferred to her faster than Draco could click his fingers. He didn't how she did it, though he'd immediately seized upon the idea and dragged her aside to make sure she patented the spells, the devices and the idea.

When this was all over and their case no longer required that they be the only ones with such an edge, Draco was also planning to have her present her idea to the Board of Directors of Malfoy International to begin integrating such technology into the magical world. He knew it relied largely on muggle devices and that his father's company might not take to it very quickly, but Draco could see the opportunity to make it big and take their company to the next level.

Somehow she had also managed to achieve all of this towards their case, without undercutting or undermining Draco's authority over the team and without royally pissing him off. Oh, it drove him spare that she could tell him about a random report of swarming doxies in Finland and give him pictures of it without needing to even contact their Ministry. He had begun to think, in fact that she might've achieved her ends by less than savoury means.

She'd disappeared for a few days three weeks ago while Draco had been drilling smugglers for information on their deals, their meets, their bosses and their product. He'd had Finnigan running down a lead on something they suspected was a new up and coming recreational drug called Black Ice. Higgins had been processing those they'd arrested and were intending to release back into the world for the purpose of examining their further dealings from a subtle distance.

He'd put Granger in charge of scanning the files. She'd demanded the job, actually, and not wanting to drown under the mountain of paperwork himself, Draco had handed it all off to her. She had a more critical eye and could find connections between people, incidents and goods that no one else noticed or thought to question. Only she'd disappeared for two days. Draco knew. He'd checked. He'd drilled Potter and her other friends. He'd run down a lead on her parents location and sent an Auror to investigate and make sure she wasn't in Australia with them. He'd even stormed her flat and been unable to locate her.

Potter had been beside himself with worry and they'd almost launched a full scale manhunt for her before she'd come strolling back into the Ministry looking run-down but unscathed. She'd been dressed sleekly in the type of outfit his mother would've approved. Tailored slacks in a no-nonsense shade of slate. A button up navy silk blouse tucked into the trousers, an expensive looking diamond choker adorning her neck and a long cashmere coat. She'd looked elegant and almost regal whilst somehow adopting an air of sophistication he hadn't expected from her.

In all honesty, she'd looked like she'd been born to be the next Lady Malfoy.

Her hair had been styled into sleek, smooth wings of rich chocolate. She'd worn make-up that looked professionally applied. She'd even walked in such a way that she simply commanded attention. The only thing he'd been able to fault was the way her brown eyes had twinkled as though she was pleased about something.

After that she'd been able to pull together information faster than he'd believed possible and had somehow achieved access to all the foreign Ministries combined. Draco knew. He'd checked that too. He didn't understand the muggle technology and magical combination she'd used to create the device she was using to access global information, but he'd read over her shoulder often enough to know it collected information from all around the world.

In all honesty, he had no idea how the woman wasn't dead on her feet. The number of leads she was personally running down, in addition to the plenty of other things she was handling, Draco had no clue when she slept. She read every report that came through the Ministry, whether it seemed related to their case or not. She was still cataloguing and studying every creature that came through the Ministry when they seized creatures on missions. She was coming along to missions, always in a different disguise. And on top off all that, she was dedicating countless hours to the study of every new creature that these rings were breeding into existence.

So far since the case had started she had registered sixty-seven new species of magical creature through the Ministry. And she didn't register them until she'd was able to qualify exactly what types of creature they were through extensive tests, blood and DNA analysis and a swath of other requirements she had to meet before they could be classed as something new and not as some mutated version of something existing.

Draco himself was just as run off his feet. Having such a small and elite team handling such an enormous case meant that he was always hopping to get things done. Every night when he went home he fell into bed, not even needing the aid of whiskey to get himself to sleep. Every day he dragged his butt to work and pushed through the mounting frustration, fury and pent up sexual tension that came from such a high stress case in close quarters with the likes of Granger.

His mother had been nagging him for weeks now that he needed to be fitted for his dress robes for the wedding. She hounded him about making appearances at more of the charity events she'd been holding and the number of other Ministry or corporation fundraisers and things that went on in their world while the community at large had no idea of their case and its enormity.

Blaise, Theo and Greg had all been hounding him to meet up with them for drinks as he hadn't had time for in months. All he'd managed was a night out after work last week with them and he'd fallen asleep at the table while they'd been waiting for their drink order. They'd been amused, to begin with, but it was rapidly becoming clear that even his mates were worried about him.

When he wasn't stressing about the case, working overtime on everything or sleeping, Draco did two things. Went out of his way to keep his mother and his fiancé from knowing he had a spare minute, and pondered how best he was going to go about keeping from committing murder. The only useful thing that had come of being so busy was that his father was entirely at a dead end regarding Draco's mistress because he hadn't had time for sex. Not to mention the bitch as under his very nose and seemed the least likely candidate these days.

He'd also reached a number of conclusions with his ponderings. The most prominent of which was that he needed to get laid.

The second was that he needed a wild night out with the boys that involved too much booze to let him be distracted but not so much as that he fell asleep. The third was that he needed to find some way to put Weaselbee back in his place. The bastard had been driving him spare. Draco knew it was because he'd been excluded from the case but for the bare minimum of details. He was nagging Granger, Potter and Finnigan too. Draco had also discovered that Ron Weasley wasn't on speaking term with Sarah Higgins after apparently dating her briefly when he'd broken up with Granger.

As it was, however, Weasley had been trying to provoke Draco into sharing the case details with him via furious outburst. Had their roles been reversed, Draco would have tried the tactic himself, but that was because Weasley was a hot-head. Draco was much cooler-minded and more prone to exacting revenge at a later date. He was currently planning a horrible accident to befall the red-haired man that wouldn't do any permanent damage but would leave him mildly traumatised and a bit less likely to hound others for information ever again.

He smirked cruelly to himself as he thought of it whilst sitting in his desk chair at the Manor. He'd returned home to shower and change and was just considering that he best head over to Granger's. Lost in thought about how best to irk Weaselbee, how he planned to seduce Granger again and whether or not he'd missed something in the most recent interrogation he'd conducted, Draco didn't hear the door to his rooms open and didn't notice he had company until one vapid little witch climbed into his lap.

She latched onto his face fervently, snogging him wildly before Draco could gather his scattered wits enough to realise he'd been attacked. Recoiling violently, he shoved hard at the octopus fastened to his face, hard enough that she fell out of his lap and landed with a thud on the floor.

"Draco!" Astoria gasped, looking outraged and mortified to find herself dumped unceremoniously on the ground between his feet.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" he demanded, his wand already out and aimed at her as he collected his wits, "I nearly hexed you, you little idiot!"

"I wanted to surprise you," Astoria pouted, looking pathetic on the floor.

"Well don't! Ever!" he growled at her, "You're bloody lucky I didn't Crucio you on instinct, Greengrass!"

Astoria paled where she still sat on the floor. She was dressed in what he expected she believed to be an enticing outfit that in actual fact made him want to leave her on some corner. She looked like a cheap whore.

"You were just sitting there smirking to yourself and you've been neglecting me," she whined, trying to climb back into his lap.

"How the fuck did you even get in here?" Draco wanted to know, glaring at her and refusing to let her back onto his lap. The idea of touching her turned his stomach.

"Your mother let me in. She said you've been stressed with work and might need some… relief," Astoria purred and Draco realised it was some pathetic attempt at seduction. He knew because his mother would never promote the notion of her future-daughter-in-law being such a trollop before her wedding and because his mother was currently on a shopping trip in France.

"Do you imagine that lying to me will be effective, Astoria?" Draco asked in his coldest and most scathing tone.

Her eyes widened at his venom.

"I'm not…"

"My mother and father are in France," Draco informed her, "And you know as well as I do that she expects you to be chaste and virginal on our wedding night. Something I'm doubting very much will be the case."

She began to smirk, misinterpreting his meaning and clearly thinking he meant to fuck her right that very second.

"Do you want me to…" she waved a hand towards the bed.

"Leave?" he asked archly, staring her down, "I believe that would be best. You're not welcome in the Manor or in my chambers, Astoria."

"I'm your fiancé."

"Only Malfoys are welcome here," Draco retorted, "And you're not a Malfoy."

"I will be in five months' time," Astoria reminded him nastily.

"Until then you are not welcome here except when my mother is present. You know the rules of etiquette. Get out before I see fit to inform our fathers of this lapse in judgement on your part and have the arrangement dissolved."

Astoria's eyes widened at the threat and she scurried to the fireplace where he pointed her without another word. She squeaked out her call for home before she disappeared in a roar of green flames. Narrowing his eyes on the fireplace, Draco waved his wand to block everyone but himself from being granted access into the Manor via his personal chambers or anywhere else in his wing. He wouldn't stand for it, blast it all. Anyone trying to get here could come via the main entrance or not at all.

Scowling to himself, Draco swiped up his whiskey decanter and carried it with him as he proceeded to Floo over to Granger's flat. He was still glowering when he landed and his eyes scanned her living room dispassionately. He hadn't been there in months, but things didn't seem to have changed very much, other than that she had more books. He could only tell because last time he'd been there he'd been able to still see the colour of the walls and they were now all entirely hidden by piles of books.

"Granger?" he called out.

No reply came and Draco narrowed his eyes. Swigging from his liquor decanter, knowing he shouldn't be getting drunk when he had to portkey to Italy in the morning and had a meeting to hold this evening with his colleagues, Draco began to search her flat. Her cat – the ugly orange fluffball – came streaking into the room when he poked his head into Granger's bedroom to make sure she hadn't fallen asleep.

"Where is she?" he demanded of the cat.

The animal growled at him.

"Don't growl at me, you ugly bastard, I'm supposed to be here."

The cat walked away from him down the hallway and Draco got the feeling he was meant to follow. Glancing at his watch, he wondered where she could be even as the cat lead him to the door leading out of her flat and onto the street.

"Granger?" he asked, opening it and poking his head out to look around. He didn't see her anywhere, but he assumed that cat must be right. Meaning she wasn't at work and therefore was likely to come back. Maybe she'd ducked out to get something. Smirking to himself, he sauntered back down her hallway, still drinking, and tried to let himself into the room he recalled was her office. She'd still never revealed what it was that she'd been doing that day he'd surprised her months ago and Draco's curiosity was getting the better of him.

He grunted when he tried the door and it shocked him with a jolt of powerful magic that made his whole body quiver and jitter about uncomfortably.

"The bitch wards her own office?" he asked of the cat, which was sitting at the end of the hall and watching his, it's tail twitching in silent annoyance, "In her own flat. How paranoid is the woman?"

Grumbling, he abandoned the office and went to further explore her flat. He strolled into the kitchen and Draco marvelled at the number of things inside it that he didn't recognise and couldn't even name. Swigging from his decanter again, Draco wandered over to what looked vaguely like a teapot. He was drinking whiskey, but he wouldn't mind a tea too, if he was being honest. Or maybe a coffee so he didn't crash out before their silly meeting began.

He pushed one of the buttons on the device and jumped back in surprise when the lid popped up. Then he snorted at himself for his own jumpiness and stupidity. Picking up the device he carried it to the sink and filled it with water before returning it to the base he'd picked it up off. He pushed the lid back down firmly to make it stay in place. There was only one other button on the thing, so Draco assumed that must be what made it go, but when he pushed it nothing happened.

Frowning, Draco twisted the odd plastic teapot around to better investigate it and found a long coil of strange cord leading from it to something on the wall. It was plugged into the wall and Draco found more buttons there. When he pushed one of them, a light began to glow on the teapot and he grinned, pleased with himself for having worked out the muggle appliance. He turned his attention to the other things he could find, wandering about the kitchen and turning things on. The cat fled the room when he turned on something with little blades in the bottom that made a horrible noise and Draco laughed.

However, when he tried to turn it off he found there were too many buttons and they made it begin to vibrate and pulse, roaring in bursts and stopping. Pushing another button the machine made an even louder noise and Draco backed away in horror. Shit. Granger was going to murder him.

Panicking, he moved over, pressing all of the buttons he could find. When that didn't work he went back to the wall where he'd turned on all the buttons but when he pushed them all again the machine kept growling at him.

"Fuck!" Draco shouted, looking around and trying to find something to use to desist its noise. The best he could find was a towel hanging from the edge of the bench. Wrapping it around the machine, the noise quieted slightly, but the machine kept going and Draco decided then that he was officially an idiot, outsmarted by a muggle invention.


	14. Chapter 13

**A/N: Enjoy, my darlings.**

* * *

 **The Silver Dragon**

 _By Kittenshift17_

* * *

 **Chapter 13**

* * *

Hermione Granger arrived home to the sound of her blender whirring, a yowling Crookshanks, a boiling kettle and the sight of her very confused seeming husband panicking in her kitchen.

Husband.

The word had been nipping at her subconscious for months now. Gnawing away at her psyche, trying to remind her that the clock was ticking on her need to find some way to divorce Draco Malfoy without him realising they'd been married in the first place. She had a little over four and a bit months, to be exact. She knew because she'd received an invitation to Malfoy's wedding last week. It was hanging on the fridge.

The idea that she still hadn't told him was also eating away at her and she didn't know what to do about it. It was hardly the time to do so when they were in the middle of such an important case, and yet every day the bloody thing seemed to grow bigger and more complicated. Kind of like her marriage. She'd discovered a number of inconvenient things about being married to him since they'd made such a stupid mistake. The most prominent of which was that her legal and magically binding name was Hermione Jean Malfoy.

Something she'd learned the hard way had to be adhered to when she'd first tried sealing magical files with her signature after the marriage and her signature as Hermione Granger hadn't been accepted as magically binding. It hadn't activated the magic to seal the file and Hermione had been utterly confused for several long minutes before it had occurred to her that she would need to try signing it as Hermione Malfoy instead. Only then had the magic activated to seal the file.

She'd been horrified. And terrified. Since then she had been forced to learn how to sign her name as Hermione Malfoy without making it seem like it said Malfoy. Not an easy task and made all the harder by the fact that both Draco himself and Harry had been reading the files she was forced to sign in order to properly go about the case. As it was she'd learned to scrawl her surname in such a way that it was barely legible.

She knew she needed to tell Malfoy that they were legally married, but she just couldn't do it. She was a coward, she knew. She'd been extremely busy, to be fair, and she was still holding out hope for finding some time to dedicate to looking into undoing this binding mess.

If all else failed she was sure that come the time when Draco tried to marry Astoria, the magic would simply refuse to let the new contract stand. She wasn't rightly sure, to be honest. For all she knew his marrying a second time might be allowed in the magical world. It was possible to commit polygamy in the magical world, she knew, so she suspected it might work. She hadn't had time to research it thoroughly and with the way their case continued to grow every day, it didn't look like she was going to find that time in a hurry.

Setting down the boxes of pizza and the litre bottle of milk she'd bought, Hermione propped her shoulder in the doorway of her kitchen to observe her husband. It was clear that he'd been drinking. Something evidenced by the half-drunk decanter of whiskey sitting on her stove-top while he tried to find some way to stop the blender. She could tell he'd been turning other kitchen appliances on and off as well. Something that made her snort in amusement when Malfoy jumped as the toaster dinged and popped back up despite not having any bread in it.

The kettle was also boiling, but a glance at the gauge on the front told her he'd had the sense to fill it before turning it on. He was clearly panicked by the blender, trying to follow the cord to turn it off and getting confused by the tangle of other cords it was intertwined with. He'd begun placing things around it to prevent the noise from bothering him and she suspected from the way he had one hand knotted in his blonde hair that he either had a headache or was close to defeat.

"Malfoy?" Hermione asked loudly, still leaning in the doorway and watching him.

He spun on her fast, drawing his wand and aiming it at her before his eyes widened as he realised it was her. Hermione smirked at him when he paled considerably before he looked back at the blender and began to blush. Another snort of amusement escaped her as his pale cheeks flushed bright red. She didn't think she'd ever seen him blush before and it tickled her immensely.

Pushing away from the wall, Hermione approached him and took his hand, guiding his finger to the button on the side that would turn the machine off. The silence in the kitchen when it stopped was punctuated by Crookshanks yowling again about wanting to be fed. Hermione ignored the cat in favour of watching Malfoy try to think of some way to explain himself.

"Fuck!" he cursed again, looking between Hermione and the blender. Hermione cracked up laughing at his outburst while his cheeks grew impossibly redder.

"Having fun, Malfoy?" Hermione managed as she chortled.

"Fucking muggles with their loud machines," he growled under his breath, taking up his decanter again and drinking from it deeply while he tried to regain his composure.

"Did you not think to… use your wand to make it stop?" Hermione asked him sweetly, "You know, like a real wizard."

"Screw you, Granger," he replied when she dissolved into giggles over his dawning expression followed by more embarrassment. Still giggling, Hermione took away the tea towels he'd piled around it to try and hide it as though it would prevent it from making noise.

"You want a cup of tea?" she asked him, used to his snarls and his bad moods by now. Having worked in such close quarters to him for months now, Hermione had learned a great deal about her husband. The main one being that he was mean when he was cranky.

"No I don't want a fucking cup of tea," he growled before drinking more whiskey.

Hermione made him one anyway.

"Hermione?" Sarah's voice called from the hallway and Hermione watched Malfoy's scowl deepen even more.

"In the kitchen, Sarah," Hermione called back, "You want a cup of tea?"

"Merlin, I'd love a coffee if you've got it," Sarah replied and Hermione could hear her coming down the hall. The fireplace roared in the distance and she suspected Seamus had also arrived. Malfoy was scowling and now leaning against the counter, looking furious. Hermione hid her amusement, knowing he would just get nasty if she let on so much as a bit that he'd done something stupid.

"Seamus, you want a cup of tea?" Hermione called.

"How'd ye knew I was here?" Seamus called back, sounding amused, "And yeah, I'd love a tea."

Hermione prepared them all a cup, refrigerating the milk when she was finished with it.

"Something wrong Malfoy?" Seamus asked when he spotted Malfoy who looked beyond enraged now, still swigging from his decanter.

"Not a thing," Malfoy answered tightly.

Seamus glanced at Hermione but she just handed him his cup of tea without commenting or making a face in return. She often shared expressions of frustration, impatience, annoyance and hilarity with Seamus when they both had to work in close quarters with Malfoy.

"I got pizza if you all want to head back into the living room," Hermione waved them through to her living room, carrying her tea and the boxes of pizza into the main room while her colleagues followed.

"Right, what time are we leaving in the morning?" Seamus wanted to know, jumping right into it after grabbing a slice of pizza from the box.

"The Portkey leaves at ten sharp," Hermione told him, "But you need to be there before then so I can do your glamour. Unless you'd prefer I do it tonight?"

"Nah," Seamus shook his head, "Too long wearing them gives me a headache."

"You'll have to wear one for weeks in Italy," Malfoy told him waspishly.

"Aye, so I don't want to wear it any sooner," Seamus retorted and Hermione sensed a fight on the horizon. They were all tired and cranky from the long hours they'd been working. Hermione knew she was.

"Right, well, I just wanted to brief everyone with these before we leave tomorrow," Hermione said, getting up and ducking into her office before returning with three files, which she handed to each of them, "With how hectic everything has been for this case, I wanted to make sure we would be focusing on the right information in Italy, and to add some extra information I've come across that I believe is relevant."

Malfoy eyed the file like he might prefer to set it on fire. Hermione held her free hand out to him to relieve him of the decanter. He released it reluctantly before taking the file.

"Hells, Hermione," Sarah exclaimed, "How do you have the time or the energy for this? You've given us forty files worth of summarised information. How? How do you even function?"

Hermione blushed pink.

"I get focused on something and time just… slips by," Hermione shrugged, "Anyway, as you can see we're focusing only on the Pit fights and the smuggling while we're in Italy. Everything I've come across suggests that both things are being held on the lands of people who probably have no idea they're being used. Abandoned investment properties that they don't check up on very often. I've found no correlating links between recent purchases in other countries. We're finding too that the Lethe and the illicit plants are the most common things in the smuggling rings there, while the creatures are being traded outside of the smuggling ring amid the pit fight venues."

"You know this, how?" Malfoy wanted to know.

"There were several arrests made in Italy this morning pertaining to seizure of potions, artefacts and plants at one location and creatures at a secondary location. They were only small busts – mostly junkies who were caught with fresh product and weren't smart enough not to roll on their suppliers. One prisoner in particular was willing to spill it all for a plea bargain with the Italian MLE for a reduced sentence and for the notion of going to a hospital where he can be treated for his addiction," Hermione informed him, "We'll be questioning him on arrival."

Malfoy narrowed his eyes slightly at her bossy tone but nodded in agreement.

"I see you've got us going after the Lethe and the plants," Sarah commented.

"Yes," Hermione nodded, "You speak Italian, correct?"

"Not fluently, but I understand it well enough," Sarah nodded.

"Seamus and Malfoy don't, so I've split us into pairs so that at least one person per group speaks the language. I'm also going after the creatures because I'll recognise more of them. You lot have been so swamped with the inundation of people with illegal goods that you've not had the time to familiarize yourselves with the creature files, while I've been more focused on them."

Sarah nodded her head in agreement and Hermione slanted a glance at Malfoy, hoping he wouldn't object. She felt like she needed to get him out of the mess with the Lethe. She'd been noticing since the encounter with the junkie he'd drilled too hard that he'd been in a foul mood and he'd been focusing too hard on the drug. She understood why. It was a horrible concoction and one dose was all it took to be hooked. They needed to stop as much of it reaching Britain as they could.

But Hermione was even more determined to save the creatures from the pits. It was too horrific a life to contemplate and she wanted to bring down the lowlifes behind it with a burning, raging passion she'd never felt before. She hadn't felt so determined to do anything since the time during the war when they'd been hunting down Horcruxes and trying to kill Voldemort.

Malfoy nodded his head sharply in agreement with her division of the teams. It wasn't surprisingly really, given that he preferred to work with her anyway. Hermione knew he barely tolerated Seamus and that he thought Sarah to be too boisterous and Gryffindor in her way of doing things. He'd flat out told her last week in a muttered complaint that if he had to tolerate either of them for too long in Italy, he was going to leave one of them behind in a body bag.

"What's this bit about the arrangements for accommodation?" Seamus asked.

"I organised that a few days ago. We don't want it bandied about too much that we're a team of British MLE agents. You two will be staying in a different location to me and Malfoy since you'll be working in a different area. I've got some cool gadgets to give you both tomorrow to make it so that we'll be in close contact while separated," Hermione explained.

"Do you never sleep, woman?" Seamus asked her, staring at her wide-eyed in confusion as he continued scanning the case notes she'd put together.

"Sometimes," Hermione nodded her head, "Don't worry about it. Just make sure you all get a good sleep tonight and don't be late in the morning."

"Can we take these home?" Sarah asked.

Hermione shook her head, "I'll bring them to the office in the morning. You both live with roommates and while I'm not suggesting they could get compromised, we just can't risk it. The only people who know any of the details about this mission are the four of us and Harry. Anything that gets out will be too risky, with how we'll be handling the case."

They all nodded in agreement, though Hermione could tell from Sarah's pursed lips that she was annoyed.

"Do you mind if a take a slice to go?" the other woman asked, "I need to get to bed."

"Feel free," Hermione told her, "Malfoy? I need to speak to you. Privately."

"I'll clear off too then," Seamus said, handing his file back to Hermione and snatching up a few pieces of pizza to take with him.

Malfoy didn't move at all until their colleagues were both gone.

"I really hope that 'speaking privately' is your code for sex," he drawled at her as he drank the tea she pressed on him and helped himself to some pizza. He hadn't had any while Seamus and Sarah had been there and she'd noticed he had a problem with people thinking he had needs.

"It's not," Hermione shook her head, though she smirked a little bit, "I need to show you something. How drunk are you?"

"Not even buzzing yet," he shrugged at her.

Hermione nodded, "Come on then. I've been working on something that you should see."

She led him down the hall and stopped outside her office door, performing the complicated spell-work to unlock and un-ward the room.

"Um… this might… surprise you," she told him seriously, glancing over her shoulder at him and feeling the need to warn him of what he was about to learn when he entered the room. She briefly considered this moment alone with him to tell him they were actually married, but she didn't think it was a very good idea to go distracting him with information like that when they were about to go on a top secret mission across the world chasing international crime lords. She needed him to be focused on the job, not freaking out over the idea of being married to her and especially not paranoid that his parents would find out.

Then again, now might be the perfect time to tell him. She knew he didn't want to be married to Astoria on his parent's orders, but he also had too much too lose should it be discovered that he was married to someone else. The fallout would be huge. With both of his parents currently out of the country, now might be the perfect time to mention that they needed to get down to the law office to arrange their divorce. She bit her lip with indecision on the matter as she led him into her office. She had the feeling that even if she did tell him the truth, it wouldn't be so easy to be rid of their matrimonial contract as she hoped. Especially given the fact that they'd consummated the marriage.

"Merlin's beard," Draco breathed as he strolled into the room and stopped dead when he saw the sight of the room.

Hermione looked around at the mess she'd made within the room proudly. Like something out of a Sherlock Holmes novel, the room was alive with strings of red, blue, green, yellow, purple and white. The walls were papered with files, clippings from newspapers and photographs. And all of them were interconnected with different strands of string, linking the different parts of the case in a physical outlay.

"What have you done?" he asked her, turning slowly to look at her even as his fingers followed a strand of red thread where it crisscrossed between the locations of the smuggling rings, the pits and the products.

"This is a layout of everything we've been working on," Hermione explained to him, "I've been working on it as we build the case, finding the links that I believe indicate that all of this points back to one particular person or group. Individually, a number of these things seem random and entirely unrelated, but when they're laid out together, they begin to show particular patterns."

"What do the different colours represent?" he asked her curiously.

"The white ones are things that are most likely innocent coincidences," Hermione explained, "Though you'll notice there aren't very many of those."

Draco nodded his head, his finger trailing between a swarm of fairies creating havoc in Paris and an occurrence of mermaids being sighted by muggles in the Gulf of Carpentaria.

"The yellow ones link between properties mostly like purchased or used across the globe for the smuggling and for the pit fights," Hermione went on, showing him the number of them, "And then correspond to each event to see if there are any taking place at those properties more than once."

Draco turned slowly, examining the large amount of yellow thread spreading throughout the intertwining images, files and clippings.

"Blue is for the links between known smuggling and illegal trade of creatures that we know have later been found dead as a result of the pit fights," Hermione told him, "And green links other illicit goods – the Lethe, the other potions and things that we've confiscated or made arrests regarding."

"What are the red threads, Granger?" Malfoy asked her quietly, clearly noting that the red threads were the most prevalent.

Hermione nibbled her lip carefully.

"Red represents the number of things that we've discovered or planned that have then gone awry," Hermione told him, "The red thread is the connection between us confiscating dragons and them going missing before reaching their destination. The disappearance of that shipment of Lethe we confiscated and it's redistribution in Diagon Alley two weeks later."

"Red is the mole in the Ministry?" he asked, raising his eyebrows.

"In a sense. Not all of the things I've linked in red are corroborated facts, but the ones that I suspect might have involved mole activity," Hermione told him, "Some of them are most likely not the work of a mole, but perhaps some events of carelessness within the team during the early stages of the investigation."

"And the black thread?" Malfoy asked, "You have a wall of death here, Granger."

He nodded at the far wall of her office where all the black thread lead away from.

"The black threads represent instances where deaths have been linked to other sections of the case. The properties involved, the other elements surrounding the murders, that type of thing. They link each person who has died to the events surrounding it. You'll notice here that the deaths of these three business owners, independent of each other seem like unfortunate accidents, but when compared like this, suggest a link between the pit fights and properties they refused to part with that were later used for instances where we believe Lethe was dealt and where other illegal potions were traded and sold."

"You think they were killed for their properties? That they weren't accidental deaths?" he asked her, eyeing the business men's pictures on the wall.

"At first I didn't," Hermione told him, "But when their properties were later involved in other crimes, I began to wonder. I believe Jenkins was killed over debts owed to bookies that he put on the pit fights and that as a means of claiming what he owed, they forced him to sign over his properties to them."

"You think this is more than one person?" he asked her.

"I do. I doubt one person could orchestrate all of this himself without getting caught but were that the case, whoever he or she is, they're good at hiding. None of the drones we've hauled in. The bookies. The junkies. The dealers. None of them seem to know who is behind the entire thing. They all have higher ups and those higher ups have their own superiors. Someone is making a lot of gold off this crime syndicate, but they're too good to get their hands dirty themselves. Or if they are getting their hands dirty, they're doing it in a way that they seem like they're unimportant to the operation. We've leaned too hard on the lower downs for me to think that is the case, but you never know."

He nodded his head, his eyes searching the room carefully, taking in every detail as though it astounded him.

"When did you have time to do all this, Granger?" he asked her after a long silence, "I know you've been handling more casework than me, Finnigan and Higgins combined. While we're busting these people, you're scouring every file you can get your hands on. And you're studying new species and getting them registered. And checking over the ledgers of every crime coming across every desk in the entire world. How? How did you even manage all that without going mad? Let alone have time to put it all together like this?"

"Hatty keeps me plied with a lot of cups of tea," Hermione shrugged, "And I've always worked best under pressure. I deal in information. I'm a speed reader too, so that helps when I'm reading the files. All this just came pouring out when I couldn't keep all the facts straight enough without some kind of physical representation."

"What are the purple threads?" he asked, seeming to suddenly notice the thin strand of purple thread that crisscrossed amid the rainbow of strings already inter-crossing her office.

"Purple inks my suspicions together where I believe there are links we've not really looked into yet or have perhaps dismissed too soon," Hermione admitted, "The purple thread is what I believe will unravel the entire tapestry."

"It links an incident of stolen cauldrons falling off the back of a broom in Yorkshire with the death of an elderly woman in Hogsmeade," he pointed out, frowning.

"It does," Hermione agreed, "But I'm not ready to even try and explain how all of these things seemed linked to me. Without having read all the files I've been scouring, my theories won't make a lick of sense to you just yet."

"You think they will with time?" he asked, intrigued by the way her eyes danced around the room, landing on all kinds of incidents that he'd already forgotten about or dismissed in favour of a bigger prize or different incident within the case.

"Not without me laying it out plainly," Hermione told him truthfully, "I don't doubt your intelligence… it's just that some of the things linked on here are cases you haven't looked at, and won't unless I give them to you. This, for example. In Africa there was a case where the officers of the MLE there confiscated what they thought was a rare breed of elephant. I'm having it shipped here as we speak. It's a hybrid they'd bred between an elephant and a dragon. While this, over here, is an instance where a Hinky-Punk was bred with a Kangaroo in Australia and sighted by muggles. I'm having that shipped here too. Independently they seemed like random instances of really weird hybridisation."

"Are they not?" he asked, frowning.

"Not when you look at this case here. In India there was an arrest made last week where a pit fight was interrupted and a large shipment of diamonds was confiscated. The creatures found among the pit fight were elephants, dragons, Hinky-Punks and kangaroos. A number of other different creatures too, but those four were present and I believe some of them were earlier, less successful attempts at breeding the two together. The diamonds were part of a payment being made to this man," Hermione pointed to a picture of an African man with a long criminal history that included the slave trade, sex trade and other smuggling related offences, "Along with a shipment of kangaroos. This man was making that payment."

Hermione pointed to another picture. This one of a white male with a missing front tooth and the Southern Cross tattooed on the side of his neck.

"You believe they are involved in our ring?" Draco asked her, his brow furrowing.

"I do. I'm having all of the creatures that have been confiscated from all of the seizures around the globe shipped here. Kingsley pulled some strings to get me special permission for that. I know we've already got a lot on our plates, but I've also noticed a distinct lack of one particular type of arrest being made and a particular type of property not being purchased and used for a particular event."

"Which is?" he asked, frowning at her further.

"We're finding the places they're storing the goods to be smuggled, and the places where they're holding the fights or the actual events where goods are traded. What aren't we finding?" Hermione asked him.

Draco frowned thoughtfully for a long time before his eyes snapped up to her face, understanding dawning on his face and in his eyes.

"The labs where they're brewing the potions, cooking the drugs or breeding the hybrids," he answered, "We've found a few small time labs where they were cooking up love potions and things, but nothing where they were making the Lethe or whatever it is that this 'Black Ice' is. And we haven't found a single place where they could be breeding different creatures."

"There were a few where it might've happened as a result of desperation," Hermione disagreed with him, "Where different species were held in the same cages and possibly bred during that time. But it goes against nature for such inter-species breeding to occur. I've found traces amounts of a strand of lust potion variant in some of my tests of the hybrids. I think they're drugging the creatures into reproducing outside of the species they belong to but we haven't found anywhere they could be doing it."

"You've been monitoring the types of properties being purchased around the globe, correct?" Malfoy asked her.

His fingers drummed on the edge of her desk thoughtfully. He'd moved over to it, propping his hip against it as he examined the layout of evidence she'd pulled together.

"I have," Hermione nodded.

"If you were going to breed creatures of different species together, where would you do it?" he asked her, "Forget the rest of the case for a minute and let's just focus on the idea of creature breeding. Forget that these people are criminals too. If you were going to be trying to produce new creatures or even increase the population size of existing ones, how would you do it, Granger?"

Hermione's brow wrinkled thoughtfully as she pondered the idea. If she were to consider the idea of breeding creatures, both to grow the population and to attempt hybridisation, she would… Hermione paled in horror, her eyes widening as she stared back at Draco.

"Oh. My. Merlin," she whispered in utter horror, hurrying past him to dig into the top drawer of her desk and dig out a new ball of coloured thread – this one pink – before she began winding it through, over and around her office, interconnecting a number of events that no longer seemed random and no longer seemed coincidental.

"Granger?" Malfoy asked, getting to his feet as she dashed across her office, criss-crossing strands of pink thread all over the place, linking the number of odd incidents where particular species were being sighted out of season or seen swarming in places they shouldn't. She threaded the pink ball of string in and out of the tangled rainbow that covered her office, ducking around Malfoy a number of times as she did so. She stopped only long enough to dash to the filing cabinet sitting in the corner before pulling out a number of additional files she'd been storing in case they became important.

"Don't you see?" she whispered as she papered more of her office wall-space with images of creature-related incidents she'd previously dismissed.

"No," Malfoy admitted, "You're in a frenzy. Hey!"

He stopped suddenly when Hermione put down the thread, crossed the office, cupped his jaw and snogged him hard on the mouth. He'd done it. There had been a number of strings that weren't adding up for her, instances she had been writing off as coincidence or as not being related to their case but had still bothered her in one way or another. Holes in her theories that she hadn't known how to plug.

Tangling her fingers into his hair at the nape of his neck, Hermione poured her happiness over his contribution into snogging him, her mind dancing with the new discovery he'd helped her make. Her body tingled with the reminder that she hadn't been laid since that night with him in her office months ago. When his hands came up to grip her hips, pulling her closer to him and moulding her to his lithe frame, Hermione felt a stir of pleasure course through her veins.

Gods, she needed to get laid.

Drawing back from him before things could get too heated, Hermione peered into his face, noticing the way his hands gripped her so tightly, trying to pull her back against him so he could snog her again.

"Are you expected to be anywhere tonight?" she asked him breathlessly, not wanting to risk shagging him – no matter how badly they might both want to hook up just then – if he was expected home where his Father might notice the effects of having recently been shagged when the man might know Draco was at her place for their meeting.

"No," he shook his head, "The Manor's empty. My mother and father are in France until next week. Is this the part where private discussion leads to sex?"

Hermione nodded her head vigorously and Malfoy smirked, finally forgetting his bad mood over his earlier embarrassment.

"Finally," he muttered, pulling her to him again and snogging her senseless.

Hermione got lost in the feel of his mouth on hers and the feel so his hands wandering her skin when he delved them under the hem of her jumper and smoothed across her lower back. She moaned at the feel of him pressing her to him so insistently.

And then she remembered she had a tattoo that he could not under any circumstance be allowed to see. She didn't doubt that if he caught sight of the silver dragon on her ribs protecting her heart – so like the one on him that there could be no doubt they were a matched pair – Hermione knew he would realise the truth. And she couldn't let that happen. Not now. Husband or not, the case needed to come first and it wouldn't if she informed him she was, in fact, his wife.

Pulling back from him again, Hermione held her hand up to fend him off when he tried to snog her again.

"I need five minutes," she told him, searching his face before flicking her eyes back to the wall, "Go close off the Floo so none of my nosy friends turn up and ruin our reputations, would you?"

"How do you even think of things like that at a time like this?" he shook his head before releasing her and getting to his feet. He kissed her hungrily again, briefly, before he strolled out of the office looking particularly smug and pleased with himself. Hermione watched him go until he was out of sight before she pulled her wand out of her pocket and began casting powerful concealment charms over her tattoo, twisting slightly and hiking her shirt up to ensure it would be properly covered.

When she was satisfied she'd done the job well enough, Hermione picked up her files and began papering the walls again, trailing her pink thread all over the office. She looked up in horror when a sound by the door caught her attention and Hermione narrowed her eyes at the sight of who had just entered her office.

"Don't you even think about it," she warned, glaring at the invader while his eyes scanned the wild crisscrossing of colourful threads all over her office.

His responding meow was warning enough. Crookshanks.

"No! Don't you take one more step, Crooks," Hermione warned the cat who was eyeing her masterpiece like it was the most exciting cat-toy he'd ever laid eyes on.

"Malfoy!" Hermione called desperately, not at all trusting the cat not to demolish everything she'd done. Especially when he began to prowl towards her desk, ignoring Hermione's commands.

"What?" Malfoy asked, also appearing in the doorway before spotting the cat just as Crookshanks leapt up on the desk to better get to the strings crossing the office.

"I need you to hold this," Hermione told him, indicating to the ball of pink thread in her hands, "If I drop it, he'll pounce."

Malfoy smirked at her even as he crossed the office and took the ball from her. Just in time too. Hermione lunged at her cat just as he leapt into the air, swiping his claws at the tangle of threads with a playful mewl. Snatching the cat out of the air, Hermione winced when the little beast began to claw at Hermione instead, attempting to climb her to get to the threads. He yowled angrily when Hermione clamped her arms tightly around him, trying to control him for as long as it took to get him out of the office.

"You can put the thread on my desk, Malfoy," Hermione called over her shoulder to him, "Just get out of there and shut the door before he scratches my face off!"

"This is why I don't have pets," he informed her, strolling leisurely out of the office when he'd set down the ball of thread. He closed the door to the office with a snap and Hermione released the half-Kneazel, wincing as he drew blood in several places while he squirmed to get away.

"Sometimes I wonder why I haven't fed him to a dragon," Hermione told Malfoy, though she glared meaningfully at her familiar. Crookshanks gave another angry yowl before he streaked off down the hall and dove under the lounge in her living room.

Sighing heavily, Hermione peeled her shirt off over her head and carried it to the bathroom where she intended to doctor the cat scratches.

"Ouch," Malfoy commented, eyeing her shoulder and her arm where the cat as savaged her.

"He's a menace," Hermione agreed, pulling out a bottle of disinfectant and beginning to treat the wounds. She tensed in surprise when Malfoy came up behind her and took the potion from her hands, taking over the job. He also distracted her from the sting by peppering kisses over her neck and her shoulder lightly.

"Did you lock the Floo?" Hermione asked him sighing and closing her eyes at the pleasant feel on his lips on her skin.

"Mhmm," he hummed.

Hermione felt his free hand unclasp her bra and she smirked, her eyes still closed as he peeled it off down her arms. When he was finished with the disinfectant, he swiped some healing salve over the cat-scratches lightly, his free hand now toying with her left nipple. She opened her eyes to meet his hungry gaze in the mirror when she reached backwards with both hands and began undoing his belt.

The smirk he gave her was pure wickedness and Hermione returned it, unbuttoning his trousers and flicking them from his hips to puddle on her bathroom floor. He finished treating the scratches on her shoulder even as he nuzzled his face into her neck, nipping her flesh hungrily before drawing blood to the surface in a wicked love bite. Hermione knew from past dealings with him that Draco Malfoy loved leaving marks on her. His penchant for spanking her and bruising her was evidence enough.

When she turned in his hold, Hermione went up on her toes, snogging him eagerly. Her whole body was throbbing with desire. She'd been craving sex for months now and she'd been refusing to have it. She didn't rightly know why, but ever since she'd accidentally married him, Hermione had gone out of her way to remain faithful to the blonde wizard currently snogging her.

In the past – since her break-up with Ron – Hermione hadn't dated anyone with enough exclusivity to keep her from sleeping around. Or, more precisely, she hadn't dated anyone long enough to get to being exclusive before she'd shagged Malfoy again and so the notion of being exclusive went out the window. Since marrying the idiot, however, Hermione had broken things off with Oliver and she'd not had the time or the inclination to sleep with anyone else. Not that she hadn't been horny and might not have considered shagging someone.

It was more that she was entirely too aware of the fact that she was married and that she had a tattoo to prove it. She hadn't had the time to research biding magical tattoos like the ones adorning her and Malfoy's bodies, but she suspected they might keep either of them from being intimate with anyone else. Especially given how ill she'd felt the day Sarah had touched Malfoy's tattoo on the day of their first mission.

No, up until today the last sex she'd had that wasn't solo play with her toys had been with Malfoy in her office. And before then had been with Malfoy the night of their elopement. And given his penchant for tormenting her by playing with his own tattoo, Hermione was well overdue for a good hard shagging.

Her hands made short work of the buttons on his shirt, popping them through the holes quickly while he worked on peeling her out of her jeans. Hermione shivered at the rasp of her zipper before she felt first her jeans and then her knickers go sliding down her thighs. She stepped out of them as he scooped his hands under her arse and lifted her up his body. Hermione wrapped her legs around his lean hips, still snogging him hungrily.

She could feel the evidence of his desire for her prodding at her nethers hungrily and Hermione was astounded by how wet she already was for him. Trailing her fingers over the tops of his shoulders and his back, she shivered at the way her fingers on his tattoo sent heat and need coursing through her like a tidal wave. Dimly she was aware that he was stumbling down the hallway towards her bedroom, clearly intent of shagging her. He stopped to press her into the wall by the door and Hermione groaned when he squirmed one hand between them to burrow his fingers into her slick passage.

"Oh my God," she sighed, arching into the touch and tipping her head back. He took full advantage of the position, his lips, teeth and tongue tormenting her exposed neck savagely.

"You smell good," he growled, two fingers working inside her and making her ache. Hermione could hear her own breathing hitch. She was strung so tight that she was sure she was going to orgasm before he could even get them into the bedroom. He breathed deeply against her neck where she sprayed her perfume and Hermione heard a soft moan of utter pleasure leave him.

She was too blind with her own carnal torture to think and she clutched at him needily, trying to find an anchor, just knowing he was about to hurl her into a raging ocean of bliss. Hermione squeaked as it crashed over her, cresting and teetering like a wave before engulfing her in heat.

"Did you…?" he asked, pulling back slightly to watch her come undone upon his fingers and Hermione might've been embarrassed if not for all the times in the past he'd inflicted things far kinkier than a hallway fingering upon her.

"Goddess, I've needed that for months," she sighed, burrowing her face into his neck.

He chuckled sinfully, his fingers still playing inside her. Unfurling her legs from about his waist, Hermione went up onto her toes and snogged him again, steering him into the bedroom and backwards towards the bed. He grunted when his knees hit the back of it and Hermione shoved at his chest, causing him to fall back on it with a soft thump. She smirked wickedly as she pulled out of his hold to lick her way down his body towards her favourite part of him.

His breath came in pants as Hermione nipped one of his nipples with her teeth before easing the sting with a lick. Her fingers smoothed over his ribs and down his lean, muscular torso.

"Bloody hell," he cursed softly, watching her as she smirked him whilst tonguing his toned abs greedily. Her hands trailed lightly over his bare thighs as she knelt between his knees, working her way south towards the raging erection she could feel nudging between her breasts.

An idea occurred to her at the thought and Hermione continued tracing the contours of his washboard abs with her tongue while she pushed her breasts together around his cock. He groaned softly at the feeling, his eyes widening as he watched her and Hermione held still when he began to thrust his hips, creating friction on his cock against her skin while Hermione pinched her nipples.

"Bloody hell, Granger," he said and Hermione could tell she was turning him on all the more by doing something so kinky and dirty. When she tilted her head and licked at the weeping tip of his cock as he trust up between her breasts again, he made a small sound like she'd killed him and he growled deep in his throat when she slid further down his body to swallow him whole, sucking her favourite appendage into her mouth hungrily.

His hands tangled into her hair, freeing it of the hair tie she'd kept it in all day and fisting the curls just hard enough that it stung a bit. She hollowed her cheeks and sucked hard as she withdrew, working her fist in tandem with her mouth over him before swallowing him all the way down her throat again. Clearly as sexually strung out and needy as she was, he made a small sound of panic when Hermione kept going, swallowing him down and sucking hard as she released him, over and over again.

His hands tightened in her hair, trying to pry her off him and Hermione could feel the way his bollocks tightened.

"Damn it, Granger, I'm going to…" he groaned and Hermione hummed wickedly as she drew him back in again, every long inch of him gliding across her tongue and down her throat. He growled in his throat again, giving up on trying to pry her off him and instead holding her head in place while he fucked her mouth. Hermione kept humming.

"Fuck!" he hissed as jets of hot come hit the back of her throat and Hermione swallowed them down, fighting against the urge to gag at the largely unfamiliar sensation. When he was done, Hermione released him, wiping her mouth delicately before she smirked wickedly at him again.

"You did that on purpose," he accused her, panting slightly where he now laid sprawled across the end of her bed.

"Do you imagine I'm done with you just yet?" Hermione teased, climbing back up his body and nipping his chin.

Malfoy chuckled at her answer fisting her hair against before he snogged her hungrily, clearly not worried about the flavour of himself on her tongue. Hermione squealed when he flipped them both suddenly until she laid beneath him and she hissed through her teeth when he skidded down the length of her body to latch onto her clit with his teeth.

A sob tore from her throat as he toyed with it, his hands peeling her folds apart like a delicate pink flower before his tongue dipped in to taste her. Goddess, she loved the feel of a man going down on her!


	15. Chapter 14

**A/N: Thanks so much to everyone who has been reading and reviewing. You're all so sweet. I'm sorry about the delay on this chapter. I got distracted again. Much love! xx-Kitten.**

* * *

 **The Silver Dragon**

 _By Kittenshift17_

* * *

 **Chapter 14**

* * *

Draco woke to the sound of an alarm going off that was not his own and found himself wrapped snugly around his favourite little muggleborn. Granger stirred in his hold, groaning in complaint at the noise and swiping her hand towards it wildly. Draco nearly got slapped thanks to her wild flailing and he realised suddenly that the alarm clock was behind him on her bedside table.

"Who?" she asked, blinking her eyes open and twisting in his hold to stare at him in confusion for a moment, clearly still mostly asleep. Draco smirked at her before fishing his hand from between her legs and reaching for the clock to make it stop screeching.

"Malfoy?" she asked again, sounding confused to find him in bed with her.

"Don't give me that, Granger," Draco rolled her eyes, "You weren't even drunk last night."

"But it's a work day," she said, clearly a little slow in the mornings when he'd spent most of the night bonking her brains out. His whole body ached all over from the number of entirely depraved things he'd done to her last night, hurting all the more thanks to the fact that he hadn't had enough to drink last night to keep from feeling the full effects of ravaging her this morning.

"It is, so get your arse out of bed, witch, and shower with me or we're both going to be late," he told her, untangling himself from around her and rolling towards the edge of the bed.

He stopped when he caught sight of the number of toys strewn across her bedroom floor as the memory of the previous evening surfaced inside his mind again. He had no idea where she'd pulled the green and black deer skin flogger or the black triple-leather slapper from but he could recall with startling clarity how she'd squealed when he'd used both of them on her.

"Ouch!" she hissed and Draco looked over to see her wincing on the edge of the bed where she sat, "Bloody hell Malfoy, what did you do to me last night? I've never woken up this sore before!"

"Don't pretend you don't remember," he chided her, moving over to lift her to her feet so she wouldn't have to put more pressure on what he didn't doubt was a severely bruised behind.

She squealed in protest as the touch caused her further pain and Draco pulled back from her to blink in confusion.

"What did you do?" she demanded, turning her back to him and twisting as though trying to see herself.

Draco paled slightly when he caught sight of the wicked purple bruises on her bum in addition to the red welts still adorning her back – from the flogger he expected.

"I think the better question is, where the hell did you get these?" he asked, stooping to collect both spanking toys from the bedroom floor and holding them in front of her face.

Her eyes widened as she stared at them before her cheeks flooded red with embarrassment.

"Oh god, that's right," she whispered, staring at the both in horror, "I dug those out and let you use them when we couldn't find your belt."

Draco nodded his head in agreement, recalling the memory the same way.

"Tell me something, Granger," he drawled at her, still holding the toys, "Just how kinky are you?"

He'd forgotten to ask last night, not wanting to interrupt his own fun with thoughts of anyone else flogging her with anything.

"Don't you look at me like that, Draco Malfoy," she snapped, snatching both toys away from him, "It's not what you think."

"Really? Because all this time I've been fucking you, I was under the impression that the flogging was always my idea – knowing my own tastes in the bedroom – and I had believed, until last night that you simply went along with things while you were drunk. And then you pull these from somewhere and suddenly I'm wondering if the bondage and spanking shit we indulge in wasn't your idea in the first place."

"If you keep using that smug tone, I'm going to use one of these on you," she warned and Draco felt his cock twitch to life when she dragged the soft tassels of the flogger through her hands threateningly, "Now before you go accusing me of being some… some…"

"Depraved vixen," he offered, smirking wickedly at her.

She narrowed her eyes even further on him.

"I'll have you know that I last night was the first time I've ever used either of these," she nodded at the toys.

"Now didn't you say something about how you and I weren't supposed to be shagging anymore because you've got your wand in a knot about me being unwillingly engaged to another woman?" Draco drawled at her, "Just who were you planning to have use these on you if you're not supposed to be fucking me?"

She sighed and tipped her head back as though dealing with him was a chore and Draco's smirk widened. He thoroughly enjoyed irking her.

"Part of Camilla's hen-night involved a sex shop," the woman admitted to the ceiling, "Ginny's idea. She insisted we all had to go in. They threw a little party for us in there, with drinks and music and… instructional explanation on the uses of all the toys and things that could be used in different fetishes."

Draco's eyes widened in shock. Just what kind of depravity did she and her friends engage in and why hadn't he known about more of it before now?

"And at the end you bought two spanking toys?" he asked, smirking.

"No," she retorted, "As you can imagine, given that it was Camilla's hen-night, I was drinking heavily and in a bad mood. And just what do I usually end up doing when that combination involves unkind thoughts about my ex-boyfriend?"

"Me," Draco replied smugly.

"Right," she nodded, "Anyway, part of the deal was that the drinks and the demonstrations and explanations regarding the toys involved all of us having to buy something before we left. A souvenir, Ginny said. I'm pretty sure she was just too chicken to admit she wanted to get a cock ring for Harry."

"Gross," Draco's face scrunched with disgust and he recoiled slightly at the very idea of Potter's sex life being mentioned.

"That's Ginny for you. She might be brave enough to do it, but she's not exactly sly enough to pull it off without making a game of it. Anyway, she insisted we all had to buy something and the entire thing already had me thinking about you and your spanking habit. Thus, the toy."

"But you have two?" Draco pointed out, "Bit eager, were you Granger?"

She flicked him across this chest and stomach with the flogger in response and Draco hissed at the slight sting.

"No, I wasn't. Camilla was utterly mortified by the entire thing, chaste little sweetheart that she can be at times. Most of the girls bought other types of sex toy, lots of vibrators, dildos. Lavender bought herself a bondage set. Anyway, Camilla was eyeing off the fluffy handcuffs and wretched person that I sometimes am I might've pointed out that Ron loathed all things BDSM related and would _not_ find it amusing if she came home with fluffy handcuffs. When she saw what I was buying, Camilla brought one of these out of obligation as per the rules Ginny had made. When we left the shop she slipped her purchase into the bag along with mine and told me to keep it as she didn't want to risk insulting Ron's sensibilities."

"So you got two for the price of one and got to screw over the woman you dislike so thoroughly all at the same time," he nodded his head, "And you've never used them since then? I seem to recall that the party was months and months ago."

"I haven't exactly had a lot of time to be sleeping around, thanks in large part to the case, Malfoy," she rolled her eyes, "And I'm not currently dating anyone."

"In other words you were saving them to let me use them on you?" he smirked.

Her cheeks turned pink and Draco could tell that she'd clearly been too embarrassed to ever consider asking any of her other bed partners to spank her. He wondered if she was embarrassed by the notion of bringing it up or if she just wasn't that big on being spanked and all the other things he tended to do to her.

"I wasn't about to ask anyone as straight laced as Oliver to chain me to the bed and flog me, was I?" she retorted, her cheeks still pink.

Draco stared at her for a long moment in silence.

"Why do you date men you're not comfortable discussing your sexual needs with, Granger?" he asked her curiously, genuinely wanting to know, "I assume, based on the fact that you let me use both of those on you last night and you've let me spank you in the past that you do actually enjoy BDSM, right?"

She blushed even brighter pink.

"I…" she stopped and sighed, "Yes, I enjoy it. Don't look at me like that!"

Draco was smirking again. He winced when she flicked him with the flogger again. It was soft but it still smarted a bit. He expected he must've hit her with it pretty bloody hard to leave those welts on her.

She tossed both toys on her bed then and stalked out of the room, her cheeks glowing while he laughed at her. Draco followed her down the hall, intent on getting his morning-after-shower. Inside the bathroom he watched her turn on the taps in the shower before opening one of the drawers and digging out a contraceptive potion to make sure he hadn't knocked her up. That was the last thing he needed. He needed her expertise too much on the case to even consider taking her out of commission by knocking her up.

That didn't even begin to cover the type of mess that would result with his family and his fiancé.

He climbed into the shower while she drank the potion and tried to get a look at the marks he'd left on her. She was clearly furious with him for laughing at her and Draco grinned to himself, amused by her embarrassment.

When she finally joined him in the shower he'd already used her products to wash his skin and his hair, and her cheeks were still pink. He folded her into his arms, ignoring her bad mood as he sighed against her skin.

"If it makes you feel any better," he whispered into her ear, "I enjoy it too."

"Yes, but you're usually the one doing the spanking, not the one being spanked," she retorted, her arms tight around his waist.

"I prefer to be in control," he shrugged unrepentantly, "But I seem to recall that you've tied me to a bed more than once and had your way with me. Besides, you're the one who needs to be disciplined, not me. I'm always perfectly controlled and in charge of myself. You're the one who needs guidance."

"Keep talking and you're going to find out what it's like to accept my guidance, Malfoy" she snapped coldly, clearly still embarrassed by his words and Draco chuckled wickedly while she laid her head against his chest.

"So tell me Granger," he asked her, "Just which toy did you buy for yourself whilst thinking of me in that sex shop?"

She pinched him nastily.

"Take a guess," she answered and Draco thought about in seriously.

"That triple thing that looks a bit like a belt?" he guessed.

"It's called a triple-leather slapper," she told him curtly, "And yes. At the time it reminded me of your penchant for using your belt. Though I'm regretting buying it this morning."

"Left some pretty nasty welts on your arse with it," he agreed.

"You hit hard," she told him quietly.

"Too hard?" he asked, frowning slightly.

"You like leaving marks," she accused, still speaking softly as she snuggled into his chest without answering his question.

That was true. He did like leaving marks on her. He'd always been careful in the past not to leave a single mark on a woman, not willing to leave evidence that he'd fucked them, knowing it could be used to trap him into marrying one of the horrid little bints he'd shagged. Granger was another matter. He didn't seem capable of not leaving marks on her and the sight of the love bites and the welts he left on her skin, as though he'd laid some kind of claim to her that he had no right laying, pleased him far more than it should.

"Answer the question, Granger," he demanded, needing to know if he sometimes got too carried away.

"I don't complain at the time, do I?" she said softly, without lifting her face from his chest.

"You cry out and you hiss. Sometimes you curse," he reminded her.

"Its fine, Malfoy. Trust me, if you got too rough with me, I'd let you know that I didn't like it," she told him and Draco believed her. If there was one thing he knew about Hermione Granger it was that she was never afraid to let her feelings be know when she didn't like something.

"Maybe we need a safe-word," he suggested, stroking his hands up and down the length of her back.

"Do you not already have one that you use?" she asked in retort.

"Do you imagine I've done the kind of kinky shit I do to you with anyone else, Granger?" Draco chuckled, "I've only been shagging you for a couple of years now. And before that I was a single and extremely eligible pureblood bachelor. Leaving those types of marks on a witch would've seen me trussed into an engagement faster than I could say Quidditch."

"Then just where did you learn all of the things you do to me?" she wanted to know.

"I read," he rolled his eyes, "And I have wretchedly opportunistic friends like Blaise and Theo."

"They're into kink too?" she asked.

Draco felt a prickle of annoyance when he thought he heard a slightly hopeful hint in her voice.

"They've tried just about everything one human being can do to another," he retorted, "Thought most of the time neither of them much cares if they're doing to someone of the male or female persuasion."

"They're both bisexual?" Hermione asked of him, tipping her head up.

"No. I think Blaise swings both ways. Theo was just curious for a bit when he was younger," Draco shrugged his shoulders, "Or, he was passingly intrigued and Blaise happens to be particularly persuasive."

"Persuasive enough to talk you into his bed?" she smirked wickedly as though the idea intrigued her and maybe turned her on a little.

"I don't do other blokes, Granger," Draco retorted, narrowing his eyes slightly, "Now, getting back to the topic at hand before your sordid guy on guy fantasies run away with you, we need a safe-word. Do you have one?"

"I'd never tried kink before I ended up in your bed for the first time," she shook her head, "I mean… I'd been curious, but I was with Ron and he wasn't at all interested in the notion of even swatting me on the behind, let alone getting kinky. He blushed for three days when I asked him to spank me with just his hand."

Draco chuckled at the idea, imaging the straight-lace ginger most likely had been rather unnerved by the idea. Kink wasn't for everyone.

"So pick something," Draco shrugged, tucking her head back beneath his chin and cuddling her closer to him once more.

"We're not supposed to be shagging, remember? I feel like picking a safe-word goes against the idea of no longer shagging."

"If you don't pick something, I will. And I'll make it something you'll be embarrassed to say so that you're less inclined to say it even when I push your limits," Draco retorted nastily.

"I hate you," she replied spitefully.

"That can't be the safe-word," Draco rolled his eyes, "You tell me that all the time."

She huffed at him in annoyance, pinching him lightly again for good measure.

They both fell silent after that and Draco simply held her against him comfortably while the water beat down upon them. She didn't seem inclined to answer him, so Draco assumed she wanted to think about it for a little while. That made sense, he supposed. She was the type of person who liked to think things through properly. It would need to be something unusual to be said in a sexual setting and it would need to be something she was comfortable saying and he was comfortable hearing.

And given how foul her mouth sometimes got when he was fucking her and some of the random expletives she muttered, it would need to be something she was unlikely to blurt out in a fit of odd self-expression.

"We're going to be late," she whispered to him after a little while and Draco knew she was right.

"As long as we're there by ten, everything will be fine," he replied, smoothing his hands up and down her back slowly.

"You still need to pack your things," she reminded him, lifting her head from his chest and tilting her head back to peer up at him. She smiled a little bit as though she were amused by his answer. Draco found his eyes drawn to her lips and before he knew what he was doing he leaned into her and kissed them softly.

She smiled wider as she kissed him back and Draco tangled his hands into her dark hair, securing her face to his as he plundered her mouth hungrily.

"This needs to stop," she reminded him breathlessly when he broke away from her lips to kiss her neck.

"Not yet," Draco replied, desperate for one more go at her. Always just one more hit. He turned them both slightly and pressed her back into the shower wall. She moaned softly at the feel of the welts and bruises still on her even as Draco curled one of her legs up over his hip, wrapping it around himself securely and guiding his throbbing cock into her snug passage slowly and deeply, the way he knew she liked.

"We're supposed to stop," she moaned into his neck even as her nails dug into his back, pulling him closer while she kissed along his collarbone.

"We don't have to," he argued, withdrawing before gliding back into her until he was seated deep inside her small body. Gods he couldn't get enough of her. She fit against him so well, better than any other woman he'd ever fucked did. She was just the right height to take all of him, her body matched perfectly to take every long inch of him.

"We do have to," she replied, rocking her hips into each thrust as he built up speed into a steady rhythm, "Or we'll get caught."

"Who's going to know?" he asked, having trouble thinking in sentences and spitting out the words when the feel of her tight sheath fluttering and clenching around him robbed him of all reason.

All she could muster in reply was a breathy moan that made Draco's eyes cross. Merlin he loved the feel of her clenched around him so tightly. She reached up and snogged him hotly, her tongue sweeping into his mouth, sliding against his own hungrily and Draco had never felt anything so good as she traced her fingers over the tattoo on his back. He rocked into her faster, picking up speed until the raw, wet slapping sound of sex overlapped her moans.

"Draco… I'm gonna…" she whispered and Draco's knees nearly gave out at the sound of her moaning his first name like that. She arched in his hold, huffing breathily as she broke apart, her body spasming and clutching at his own as she went over the edge and into orgasm. Gritting his teeth against how good it felt, he tried to hold out longer, to prolong it as he fucked her, not knowing if or when he'd get to do it again.

When she leaned into his neck, turning all languid and soft in his hold, boneless in her contentment, Draco lost the fight to hold out and his breath caught as he drove into her harder before spilling his seed against her womb. His knees buckled as he came and Draco leaned into her to keep from having them both slip down the wall to puddle on the shower floor.

He panted slightly as he held them both up, trying to come down from the high and Granger clung to him as though he were her lifeline.

"Wow," she whispered, sounding sleepy.

He huffed out a breathless laugh at her response.

"We're going to be late," he informed her after a little while, trying to get his racing heart back under control.

"Shit!" Granger cursed foully, her head lifting from his chest as she recalled they had places to be that day, "Damn it, Malfoy! You're not supposed to distract me! We have to be there early to do the glamours!"

She writhed in his hold until he released her, turning the taps off and leaping from the shower. Not bothering with a towel, she aimed her wand at him to dry him with a charm before drying herself as well. Draco smirked to himself as he exited the shower much slower, watching as she muttered to herself and set about trying to tame her wild hair.

"Hold still, would you?" he asked of her when she was in the process of brushing her teeth.

He'd dug around in her bathroom drawers to locate a pot of bruise salve.

"What are you doing?" she asked him when he caught her hips and canted them out slightly.

"I don't want to listen to you hissing and cursing all bloody day," he told her, working the healing salve over her bruised bum cheeks tenderly.

She stared at him in the mirror. Draco could feel her eyes on him as he focused on his task without meeting her gaze. He could practically hear the cogs in her brain whirring over his actions. He was acting like he was attached again. He was treating her like something other than a paltry hook-up.

Draco decided he didn't much care right then. The fact was that she was his colleague, his partner in a case working to unravel an international-scale crime syndicate and also someone he happened to enjoy shagging. Besides, if he didn't take care of her, she really would complain about it all day long without actually complaining. And he'd been beaten enough as a child to know how badly it sucked to try and sit or move around when one's behind was bruised and covered with welts.

He resisted the urge he had when he was done to bend her over even further and finger her again, just to watch her come undone. They really didn't have time. They were already pushing it and she was right about him needing to get home, get changed into something more appropriate and grab his things before heading to the office.

"What did you do with my trousers?" he asked her, looking around the bathroom floor when he was finished healing her.

"Erm..." she glanced around, trying to find them, "Maybe they're in the hallway?"

Draco nodded, finding his shirt and pulling it on without bothering to button it up. As soon as he found his pants, he was intending to Floo directly to the Manor so he could get on with things.

"Wait," she called as he strolled out of the room in search of them.

"What?" he asked, turning back to look at her. She was still naked and it was entirely too tempting to blow off getting to work early when she looked so good naked.

"You've got a love-bite on your neck," she informed him, carrying the pot of bruise salve he'd used on her. Draco held still as she came close enough to dab the spot on his throat that she so enjoyed tormenting.

He found himself smirking, unable to resist smoothing his hands down her sides. Every other time they'd shagged prior to the time in her office and now, they'd both been hungover and things had been awkward between them. Having worked together so closely for months had alleviated the awkwardness and if Draco was being honest, he was beginning to think that he wasn't as comfortable with anyone else as he was with Granger. The thought unnerved him. If someone had told him five years ago that he'd have shagged the witch silly and have developed a secret arrangement for sex with her, Draco would have laughed them out of the room. The notion that he not only enjoyed fucking her, but also rather enjoyed being in her presence in general unnerved him immensely.

She was right. This was getting out of hand. He was engaged to another woman and for all that he loathed Astoria, he was going to have to marry the bitch. It wouldn't do to be so attached to Granger that he fell for her. Not when he had to marry another woman. The idea of being comfortable with her when he tended to feel rather uncomfortable around literally everyone else made him a little bit nervous and Draco resolved that he was going to have to do something to ensure he didn't actually fall for her.

The last thing he needed was to go and fall in love with a woman he could never have. When Granger went up on her toes in front of him, done with healing the love bite she'd left on him, she pressed a kiss to his lips and Draco found himself returning it eagerly. He hated them both just a bit when he realised that he might already be too late to worry about getting all tangled up with her when he shouldn't.

She'd been right. He was attached. He didn't want to let her go. Hell, he didn't even feel like going to work. He wanted to stay right there in her cramped little flat and have his way with her until neither of them could move. And then he wanted to have food delivered so that wouldn't have to move while he spent countless hours in her company.

He was so royally bollocksed that it wasn't even funny.

"I'll see you at the office," Draco told her when she pulled away, trying to calm the race in his heart and the sudden clamminess of his hands.

He needed to keep his distance.

Fuck.

He should never have fucked her in the first place. He didn't even need to worry anymore about the idea that they might get caught. Draco had a much larger concern. And it was that he feared he might be falling for the curly-haired with. He had a fiancé he didn't want, a political alliance his father was relying on securing through his engagement, a mother who would be disappointed with him if he married any woman not of pure descent and a fucking crush of Hermione Granger.

When had his life so efficiently returned to hell in a handbasket? He hadn't been this fucked over since before the war had ended.

Before he could do anything else entirely stupid, Draco stomped down her hallway and Flooed back to his chambers at the Manor, cussing foully the whole way and trying to think of some solution to his current predicament.


	16. Chapter 15

**A/N: I can't wait to see what you make of this chapter. Sorry for the delay between updates. xx-Kitten**

* * *

 **The Silver Dragon**

 _By Kittenshift17_

* * *

 **Chapter 15**

* * *

She didn't know what had happened since the time Malfoy had left her flat before he'd met back up with her at the office, but he was beyond furious about something. He'd stalked into the office where they were awaiting the portkey to leave and looked like he could've single-handedly taken on the entire MLE department and won, if he'd wanted to.

His face bore a fierce scowl and he levelled a death glare at anyone who so much as glanced in his direction. He was seething mad about something and Hermione had no idea what it was. He'd been fine at her house. Cheeky. Funny. Alarmingly attentive to her needs when he didn't have to be. He'd even kissed her goodbye politely and left in a good mood.

She knew his parents were supposed to be out of the country, but the only thing she could think of that might have put him in such a bad mood was that they'd been waiting for him when he returned home. Had they been caught? Was Lucius Malfoy going to storm the Ministry and potentially murder her for sleeping with his son?

Hermione was worried, that was for certain.

She hurried her way through glamour-charming Sarah and Seamus in preparation for their department, needing to get it out of the way given that she was already running a bit behind schedule thanks to the morning shag with Malfoy. She didn't much fancy the idea of entering his personal space when he was in such a foul mood, either, but she didn't have a choice. Besides, they would be in Italy for at least a week and she was going to be practically in his pocket during that time.

The last thing she needed was him stomping around in a bad mood, pissing off the Italian MLE division or doing something stupid, like rushing into a situation half-cocked and getting himself killed.

"What's his problem?" Seamus hissed to her as Hermione fixed his face to make him look like a middle-aged man with mutton-chops, salt and pepper dark hair streaked through with grey, and a crooked nose.

"No idea," Hermione whispered back. "Just… don't provoke him. He might maim you."

Seamus nodded his head, eyeing the head of their elite team warily, as though he were a live snake poised and ready to strike. Hermione didn't at all feel like approaching the man when he scowled so fiercely, even if he was technically her husband.

What could have happened?

Had he seen her tattoo and realised how closely it matched his? Had he realised they were married? She doubted he'd have left the apartment or refrained from murdering her if that was the case. Maybe he'd encountered Astoria and the wheedling little bitch had said something to set him off. Hell, he'd probably gone home to a pack of owls returning the RSVPs to his dreaded wedding.

Hermione knew how badly he didn't want to be married. If his fucking her hadn't been enough and his complaints about it hadn't tipped her off, Hermione need only have watched him interact with the blonde witch to see how much he loathed her. She hadn't really noticed it until recently. Until just before they'd begun their case, anyway, but he had this habit of ignoring the witch. To most of society he looked the attentive, arrogant, sophisticated picture of betrothed grace.

But up close, he looked like he wanted to murder the bitch. Hermione had noted at the last Ministry function she'd been dragged to, in spite of their case, that whenever he was in Astoria's presence, he always had a drink in one hand and usually had a cigar in the other. A tactic she suspected he'd employed to avoid having to hold her hand. He also tended to go out of his way to talk to other people he might not particularly like or care for, merely as a means to keep from having to speak with the vapid heiress.

If he'd run into her since leaving Hermione's flat that morning, it would certainly explain his mood.

"You going to be alright with him on this mission, Hermione?" Seamus asked before Hermione could approach her husband.

"I'll be fine Seamus," Hermione told him. "I can handle Malfoy's foul moods."

"He was in a foul mood last night, too," Seamus commented. "Has been since he got busted for going too far with that junkie."

"He's focusing too hard on the Lethe and worried about the Black Ice," Hermione replied. "It's eating him alive on the inside, I think."

Seamus looked thoughtful at the idea, tipping his head to one side and surveying Malfoy carefully, as though trying to decipher the blond wizard the same way he might an ancient rune he'd not come across before.

"Better get on with it, I suppose," he shrugged, shaking his head a minute later as Hermione finished fixing his glamour for him. "Last thing we need is Malfoy spotted in Italy after how hard we've been coming down on the dirt-bags here. Any connections they've got will know we're on the prowl."

"Hence the glamours," Hermione nodded her head. "Read this again until the Portkey is ready to go, I don't want anyone overlooking things while we're in Italy."

Seamus accepted the file in silence and Hermione took a deep, calming breathing before approaching Malfoy. He glared at her as she came closer, his eyes raking up and down her slim form and surveying her glamoured appearance and her outfit.

She'd glamoured her hair to a blonde almost the same shade as Malfoy's platinum hair. Her curls couldn't be controlled so easily and so Hermione had left them be, allowing herself a flyaway sort of look. She'd amended the shape of her face too, making herself look a little more vague and somewhat like Luna, actually. Not in resemblance so much as she'd tried to emulate Luna's serene expression and intrigued, yet detached sort of curiosity about the world.

"You look like a fucking whore when you're blonde," he growled by way of greeting and Hermione almost staggered at the amount of fury and venom in those words. She hadn't heard him this mean or this hateful about anyone but Astoria since they'd finished Hogwarts.

"And good morning to you too, Malfoy," Hermione sneered in return, recoiling slightly at the venom in his tone.

"Fuck off," Draco hissed. He looked at her like he hated her and Hermione's frown deepened in confusion.

He hadn't given her a look like that since their days at Hogwarts. No, worse. He'd _never_ looked at _her_ like that. This was the type of expression he ordinarily saved for Astoria when no one else was looking. Hermione stared at him, bewildered by his change of mood and his obvious fury with her.

What had she done? Everything had been fine when he left the flat and now he was staring at her like she'd murdered his mother and told him to clean up the mess.

"I need to do you glamour before the portkey activates, so jam your attitude, Malfoy. I don't know what crawled up your arse and died but you can just get over it. And if you tell me I look like a whore ever again, I swear to Merlin I'll hex you into next week, is that clear?" Hermione replied, her own temper flaring in her confusion.

Malfoy narrowed his eyes on her when Hermione pointed her wand at his face and began to twirling it, altering his appearance. She aged him carefully, making his nose slightly crooked and a little bigger. She darkened his eyes from their silver shade to almost black and she transfigured his hair from platinum blond to a lustrous shade of black.

By the time she was done he still looked dignified and hateful, but much meaner and much crueller. The set of his mouth when she altered the shape of his face made him look like he might lunge at her and rip her throat out with his teeth. Overall, he looked terrifying and Hermione stared at her handiwork carefully, making sure it would hold whilst attempting to examine what could possibly have put him in such a bad mood.

"Change your hair, Granger," he demanded when she was finished. "I mean it, you look like a whore with blonde hair and I refuse to be seen with you when you look like that. The sight of you, like this, actually makes me want to murder you."

As though to illustrate his point, his lifted his hands in front of her and made a choking hold as though he were imagining choking the life right out of her. And not in the kinky way he sometimes did in the bedroom.

"Is it just the colour?" she frowned, unsure what to make of his behaviour.

"Change it and find out. Make it red. Or black."

Hermione frowned before aiming her wand at herself and charming her hair a deep shade of red like sweet red wine.

His scowl deepened.

"No. You look like a fucking Weasley. An attractive, freckle-free one, but still a Weasley. Black, woman. Make it black."

Hermione narrowed her eyes on him before flicking her wand again, turning her hair the same raven black shade she'd charmed his.

Malfoy curled his lip at her, eyeing her critically.

"Let me," he commanded, turning his wand on her and Hermione blinked in shock when he whacked her with several charms.

"What are you doing?" she asked, frowning.

Malfoy didn't answer, continuing to work on glamouring. When he was done he conjured a full length mirror and held it up, letting her see herself. Hermione did a double-take at the effect. He'd made her look…. She couldn't even describe it. Her hair hung to her bum in long black waves. Her face was pixie-like, small and a little mean. Her dark eyes had been charmed a vibrant shade of blue so bright that they hurt a little to look at. She looked wicked, spiteful, and more than a little ruthless.

"No one will want to help me when I look like this," she muttered. "I'm supposed to be nondescript and forgettable. If we both look mean, we'll be remembered."

"We will be anyway. Shush your bitching and get your suitcase. Our Portkey is about to leave," he snapped, pocketing his wand and picking up his bag as he grabbed hold of the Portkey just as the Ministry clock in the distance began to chime out the hour.

Hermione summoned her bag quickly, latching onto their portkey hurriedly. Malfoy was still glaring at her hatefully when it activated, pulling them both away.

 **~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~**

They landed in Rome and Hermione scowled when she noticed it was storming in this part of the world.

"Come on," she grumbled. "Our hotel is this way. We can dump our bags and get to work."

Malfoy didn't say anything as he followed her. Hermione led the way down the street from their arrival point, uncomfortably aware of him at her back. She wanted to ask him what his problem was now that they couldn't be overheard by Seamus or Sarah but she didn't bother. The mood he was in made her think he wasn't going to tell her, no matter what she asked.

"Two rooms booked for McCarthy," Hermione told the woman at the reception desk when she moved over to check in.

"McCarthy… McCarthy…hmmmm…" the expression on the muggle woman's face when she searched for the names did not bode well. "Two rooms, you said?"

"That's right," Hermione said tightly, listening to the sound of frustration Malfoy emitted. "I called yesterday to confirm these bookings and was told that they were confirmed."

"I… yes, I can see that," the girl said. "Oh… Oh, it looks like one of the rooms was mistakenly cancelled when you called, instead of being put through as a confirmation. I'm terribly sorry. I don't know how that happened. I can try to juggle some people to accommodate… we're fully booked, is the thing. The second room was resold and well… We might have a cot we could pop in there for you…?"

Hermione made a noise of impatience, her own cheeks colouring when she glanced at Malfoy. He was scowling and he shot her a look, his eyes raking up and down her figure. She suspected he was thinking the same thing that she was; that they'd likely have winded up sharing one bed anyway, no matter her arguments that they weren't supposed to be shagging.

"Don't worry about it, just give us the bloody keys and we'll have to bloody share!" Malfoy growled. "I expect complimentary meals to make up for this inconvenience, girl."

"I… well, I'd have to check with the manager," the girl stammered, looking scared when Draco snatched the keys from her, his scowl menacing. He was looming again, the same way he did to the tea-cart girls at the Ministry and Hermione almost swatted him for being a git before remembering that free meals were a good thing, and that Draco was in a foul enough mood that he might haul his wand out and hex someone if she tried it.

"You do that," he sneered. "While you're at it, check with him about his policy on lumping people in together just because the bookings are made under the same name."

The girl's face was very red as she flagged over the manager.

"Oh dear, yes, I see the problem. I'm terribly sorry for the inconvenience. It looks like one of trainees mistook your confirmation call as a cancellation on one of the rooms instead."

Hermione huffed in annoyance.

"I want free food," Draco insisted, obviously used to getting his way when he travelled since he usually booked under the Malfoy name and, as such, was used to five star service.

"We'll have anything you order sent up, free of charge, just as soon as you let us know what you'd like, Mr McCarthy," the manager promised.

Draco nodded before turning from the desk and stomping away. Hermione sighed, getting the feeling that if she didn't say something nice, they might get food that had been spat in.

"Sorry about him," she apologised. "I appreciate your willingness to compensate us over this unfortunate circumstance. If you could see fit to throw in a bottle of wine when you send that food, I'll be very grateful. If I don't drink it all myself, I'm liable to brain him with it, forced to share a room with him for the next week."

The manager gave her a small smile and the reception girl giggled a little.

"Of course, Ms McCarthy."

Hermione nodded her head one before turning and following Malfoy over to the elevator and up to their room. She didn't say anything to him as they rode the elevator, though she could practically feel the frustration pouring off him in waves. She wanted to demand to know what his problem was. She wanted to tell him he was being a jerk. She wanted to tell him to pull his head in before he found himself hexed.

But it would wait. If she was going to confront him, she certainly wasn't going to do it where someone might see the two of them arguing or where they might be overheard.

He stomped all the way to their suite, using the key to open it and flinging his suitcase on the ground by the cupboard. Hermione followed him inside. It was a nice enough room. She'd booked an apartment for the sake of their case-work, and it had everything they needed. Despite knowing it was wrong, she wasn't even that put out of the idea of having to share the bed and the room with him. It would make it easier to bounce case-ideas off of him and she didn't doubt that no matter how often she insisted that what they were doing had to stop, she knew she'd wind up shagging him again.

While Malfoy stomped across the room to the fridge and fished out one of the little hotel bottles of whiskey, cracking the top and gulping it down in one, Hermione flicked her wand to begin unpacking her suitcase and laying out the case-note for their mission.

"Malfoy," she said quietly when she watched him open the little bottle of vodka after draining the bottle of whiskey.

"What, Granger?" he asked tightly, refusing to look at her.

"Are you going to tell me what's got your wand in a knot, or are you going to just get drunk at eleven in the morning whilst stomping around?" Hermione asked.

He levelled her a glare that could curdle milk, curling his top lip at her hatefully.

"What?" she demanded. "Were your parents home when you packed your things? You were fine this morning. We part for half an hour and you're even ruder than I recall you being when we were still at school! What is your problem?"

"YOU!" he shouted, tossing the empty vodka bottle into the trash before spinning to glare at her. "You are my bloody problem, Granger!"

"Me?" Hermione asked, confused.

She wracked her brain, trying to think of what she'd possibly done this morning to have upset him. They'd shared the shower. They'd discussed the fact that she'd bought a sex toy with him in mind. She didn't think she'd done anything to warrant him being mean to her.

"What did I do?" she frowned, unable to think of anything. "Is this because of what I said about the slapper? You've got your wand in a knot because whilst drunk I made a silly purchase pertaining to our less-than-professional relationship? Or because we shagged this morning without the excuse of being drunk first?"

His grey eyes glittered with fury as he stalked toward her and Hermione held her ground, still frowning, expecting he was about to try his looming trick that so often cowed lesser witches. She wasn't expecting to be grabbed and snogged hard on the mouth. She wasn't expecting the punishing nip to her bottom lip before he walked her backward all the way over to the couch, leaning into her when she bumped into it.

Hermione kissed him back, still bewildered, but expecting he was currently too angry to enunciate his thoughts. She squeaked when she felt his hands at the fastening of her jeans, undoing them before jerking them down to her knees. When he broke their fervent snog to spin her around, Hermione huffed in surprised. His hands on her back forced her to bend forward over the back of the couch. The jingle of his belt-buckled followed and she groaned when he canted her hips and thrust himself deep inside her, sheathing himself completely.

Wincing slightly when he gave her no time to adjust and when she wasn't quite wet enough for it not to sting a bit, Hermione braced for the wild explosion of power and violence he unleashed. This time he didn't spank her or choke her or leave marks other than the bruises in the shape of his fingers upon her hips. He fucked her hard, driving deep, hips pistoning, flesh slapping together. Hermione knew she was twisted when the entire thing turned her on more than it should, low mewls of pleasure dripping from her lips.

"Fuck. You. Granger!" he growled, every word punctuated by another deep thrust that sent jolts of pleasure shooting through her. Hermione knew she was close even before he leaned forward, resting his forehead against the middle of her back while he kept right on fucking her, his breath ragged, his grip unforgiving, his cock buried so deep inside her that she ached.

Despite his obvious anger, Hermione felt something inside her snap and she toppled into the abyss of waiting pleasure as the orgasm hit, taking her breath away. Draco groaned at the feel of her body clenching down upon his, spasming and wringing the pleasure from him too. He fucked her through the orgasm, his movements growing jerky and erratic before he buried himself deep, his hot speed spilling against her womb and making Hermione tremble.

He stayed there when he was done, his forehead resting between her shoulder-blades, his breath uneven, his grip loosening on her hips before her curled his arms underneath her, cuddling her to himself. Hermione blinked, still confused and now drowsy with contentment, too.

"I don't understand," Hermione said quietly. "I'm your problem because you were horny?"

Malfoy actually laughed at the idea and Hermione felt him press a kiss to the middle of her back.

"No," he muttered sadly. "You're my problem because I have to marry _her_ , even though all I _want_ is you."


End file.
